Realistic Delusions
by MalkyTop
Summary: After an encounter that left Sanji's body severely damaged, he finds that his hands can't feel or move. Funnily enough, that's not the thing that the rest of the crew is worried about. Warnings: Death ideation, 2nd degree burns, Sanji's extremely bad language.
1. Dying vs Fighting

**Written for the 2015 OP Big Bang. Many thanks to my beta reader, Septdeneuf, who patiently answered my medical questions and endured my painful medical mistakes.**

* * *

When Sanji woke up, the first thing he saw was Luffy's face.

He instinctively shut his eyes but it was too late to pretend he was still knocked out. That expression of innocent fury was locked onto him now, and in his captain's simple-mindedness, it would tear into him, peel away his skin without mercy until it was spent.

Well, if he was going to be a punching bag, he could at least use a smoke. But a quick pat-down of his pockets revealed none of his usual cancer sticks. Actually, he couldn't seem to find his pockets. Did he even manage to move his arms? Shit, he really _was _in bad shape. And with that realization came unwilling cognizance and hell, had gravity _always_ been that heavy on the ol' chest cavity? And by cavity, he really _meant_ cavity, 'cause somehow his stomach felt like it was sinking into a black hole. The comforter that was laid on top of him better be nailed down or something, else it risked being sucked in as well. He could feel his legs now, oh _god_ he could feel his legs, and they seemed to be generally parallel, which was a hell of a lot better than last time he was conscious. But _god_ he could use a smoke.

He risked opening his eyes in order to scan the familiar infirmary and its familiar side-table, but while Chopper usually had the decency to pile his packs of King Grounds there, such decency was nowhere to be seen this time around. Double shit.

"Sanji," came that cold, low voice, and his eyes trailed back up to Luffy's face before he could stop them. The captain's eyes were wide but his face unsmiling and he was still. Inert, even, all of his usual boundless energy being bundled up deep inside, packed in and boiled and ready to punch something. Sanji ground his teeth but there was nothing there, not even smoke for him to spit out in the space between them like a barrier.

There was the sound of wood scooting against wood and somewhere behind Luffy's shoulder the clop-clopping of eager hooves: "He's awake?"

"Yeah," said Luffy, eyes unwavering, and Sanji wasn't about to lose, not to this idiot, but meeting his gaze was like looking into the sun. "We're gonna talk, okay?"

Chopper stopped at that tone of voice, suddenly aware that there was something more important that needed to be done besides pesky medical attention and things like that. His beeline towards the infirmary's bed became more like a V-line as he turned diagonally and examined his growing herbs with the diligence of a hawk with a doctorate.

Sanji's eyes flicked downwards as well, couldn't help but concede when Luffy talked like _that,_ but he still managed a grimace in the form of a smirk. "What'd you do with her?"

Luffy didn't blink. Like a fish, maybe. Or a shark. "We beat her up."

The sound that came out of Sanji's throat could conceivably be called laughter, to anybody feeling more than charitable. "Ah, shit. I'm on a ship full of fucking barbarians."

He winced before he understood what happened, and at first he thought Luffy had really actually punched him, even in the horrid state he was in (because he would, he _totally would_, that idiot had no concept of fragility) but no, the captain had simply punched the wall above. His arm straight and tense above the bed, his head looming over so that Sanji couldn't help but stare at his face because even turning his neck hurt like hell. It was a miracle that Luffy didn't punch a hole straight through.

"You idiot."

"Talking about yourself?" It wasn't the time for this, it really wasn't the time, but this conversation wasn't the best thing to wake up to, he was sure. He'd rather take the punch.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, yeah." Sanji's eye lazily slid closed. Wasn't like he could move much else. "I got it."

"Dammit, _listen to me – "_

"L-Luffy, _please – "_

Time froze. The only sound was Sanji's shaky breathing, an unsteady vibrato that traveled down his torso in spasms. Luffy had pulled him up by the scruff of his shirt and this new position known as 'upright' was _hell_ on his spine, he could tell by the weird way bone ground against bone, it was wrong, _so wrong,_ even if it didn't exactly hurt, not yet, and he wanted to push away, but his arms only shivered like the first time he ever held a knife. All he could do was gasp for air and wasn't Luffy going to let him down already?

"...H...hey. Y-you're making your doctor cry, y'know..."

With a grunt, Luffy let go and backed up into a waiting chair as Sanji flumped back into the bed. The jolt as he bounced was enough to make him dizzy and the ceiling of the infirmary briefly fizzled and twisted until he closed his eyes and just focused on letting his lungs do their thing. Somewhere to the side, Chopper was checking IVs or whatever, pulling the comforter back over him like he was some shitty kid. And wasn't it sad? That he couldn't even shove away help and pull up the covers himself and turn his back on the world, couldn't even make one gesture of rebellion as simple as clenching his fist? What a piece of shit this body was.

"Thanks," he breathed out, and Chopper nodded before retreating, the brim of his hat low over his eyes.

From the far corner of the bed came a weak, "You almost died."

"I guess," Sanji said, closing his eyes so he couldn't see the cracks in those words, didn't have to confront the accusation or the sorrow behind it. But it was hard to ignore the sobs coming from not one, but two people in the room, muffled wails accompanied by fat tears and messy snot.

"Usopp and Nami were _right there_. You should've let them – "

"I had to protect them. I would die protecting anybody on this ship. You understand, right?"

"_Stop!_ Stop talking like that! We protect _each other,_ idiot!" Another thud. The infirmary was taking quite a beating today. "If you're facing an enemy you can't fight, _you're_ the one who needs protecting! Got that?!"

"No, _you – " _Coughing hurt, it hurt so much and he couldn't even stop by himself until it felt like the walls of his throat was stripped bare through sheer force. Raising his voice had been a _terrible_ idea. When Sanji spoke again, his voice was soft and low; not exactly the effect he wanted, but it was better than expelling a lung. "...You're in no position to lecture _me,_ Mr. Gear-Second-Shortens-My-Lifespan-But-Who-Cares. What, _you're_ allowed to run around risking your life? And what am _I_ supposed to do, twiddle around and do _nothing _when someone's in trouble?" He did an experimental chuckle and was a little pleased that it went off with little injury. "That's not my style, _captain._"

Luffy was standing again, he could tell by the clatter of the chair falling over. Sanji's eyes blinked open at that sound and caught sight of Luffy's face, still a little snotty, nose still red, but the way that mouth was set in a snarl was certainly nothing to laugh at. "Don't compare that," he growled. "It's not the same."

Sanji's mouth tensed into a smirk, proud and haughty even while staring down a monster. "Yeah? What's different?"

"You die for your friends. I _fight._"

That last word was said with such force that it couldn't be anything but the end of the argument. And indeed, Luffy was already turning to leave. But before he opened the door, he said, "I won't forgive you until you cook me all the meat in the world."

Sanji gave himself a grim once-over as best as he could. "I don't think I'll be doing that for a while."

"Then I won't forgive you."

The slam of the infirmary door pounded on his head like a mallet and it took a while before Sanji even noticed the soft whimpering coming from under the desk.

"Sorry, Chopper. You shouldn't have to hear that."


	2. Brachial Plexus Lesion

Chopper stood on his doctor's chair and went over his usual list of injuries, and Sanji let the words wash over him. By now, he even recognized some of the things the little doctor said, stuff about smashed patellas and snapped tibias and slipped discs and a variety of stitches. It'd take a while to heal, of course, but nothing new, he could probably be up and about on crutches after a few days and walking normally after a week, if he could sneak out of the infirmary anyways. Get back to his kitchen as fast as possible, do damage control (or build a new kitchen, whatever was easier), resume cooking; there was a slab of beef that'd definitely win back Luffy's smile.

"Um, Sanji, uh. I...is it okay if...could I ask..." Chopper fidgeted, which was a worrying trait to have in a doctor. His large eyes kept wandering towards the door and back. "...Can you sit up?"

"Hm? Ah..." His entire body felt like it was on strike. He tried to at least push against his shoulders to shimmy up the bed, but only managed to tire himself out. "...Sorry, I can't."

"Then excuse me...I need to examine your arms, please." As the reindeer carefully peeled the quilt off and folded it over his legs, he continued, "If you feel any discomfort, please tell me."

Sanji wasn't really sure what kind of discomfort he was supposed to be feeling, considering the way Chopper handled his arms like a fresh souffle. "Shouldn't you already have finished your examinations or something?" It had already been a few days, from what he gathered.

"I can't do this unless you're conscious. I'm going to test your reflexes now, okay? So please relax your arms."

"Can't really move 'em, so they're as relaxed as they're gonna get." Sanji tried a reassuring smile, but he found himself aiming it at the top of Chopper's head instead of his face. The doctor seemed to calm down on his own, at least; his eyes stopped flitting, legs stopped shifting, hooves stopped clacking. Getting absorbed in work was the best cure for nerves, after all.

Now that Chopper was bending his arm slightly, he could see one of the IV needles stuck in there, dripping in nutrients or whatever. The way the tube just melded with his skin made his stomach twist. Looking directly at the unnatural bump in his arm made it worse.

Somehow managing to balance a small hammer in his hooves, Chopper tapped some spot on his upper right arm. "The bicep," the doctor explained. Despite his arms feeling much too heavy before, it jolted automatically. Chopper immediately wheeled around to the other side of the bed and did the same thing to his other arm.

It didn't even twitch. Must have been broken more than the other. Which was a shame, but at least it wasn't his dominant arm. He could handle doing things one-handed for a while if it came to that.

He could see Chopper's fur bristle as he frowned, tried again fruitlessly. Moved on to another spot on the arm ("Triceps") and wheeled back to his other side to try the same thing.

"You could just do everything on one arm first," Sanji suggested.

Chopper gave him a look that suggested that he didn't appreciate advice from someone who didn't even know what biceps were. "It's important to compare immediately," he replied, pushing away from his right side once more. Sanji watched him go distractedly back and forth and still couldn't see anything other than a terrible example of efficiency. "Although I suppose the difference is already drastic enough to tell...but it's still better to...oh."

"Oh?" Sanji repeated, eyes flicking back to where Chopper had been hitting some other part of his arm. He hadn't paid attention to what Chopper said that part was, but it was around his elbow, so he was content with calling it the elbow. Chopper tapped it again and nothing interesting happened. Still, Chopper's eyes seem to brighten with understanding even as his face didn't look that happy with whatever discovery he had made.

"Your upper right arm reflexes are functioning, but when I moved lower, it stopped. The left side seems completely dea – uh, um, _I mean_ – " Chopper almost seemed to topple off his chair in his desperation to find different words for his thoughts, though Sanji couldn't help but think that would be harder to accomplish with hooves over his mouth.

It was, to be honest, completely adorable. "Dead," Sanji finished for him. "So my arms don't move right? Shit, that's a pain...how long until they're better?"

"I think I should do some more tests first," was the only answer. Chopper hopped off the chair to grab some things from his desk. Above the rattling, Sanji could hear him add, "So, um, Sanji? About, um...the, uh, your..."

"What?"

"Nothing," Chopper hastily finished, jumping back to his bedside with a tongue depressor in hoof. "Um. So what I'm gonna do is stroke this against your arms now, and I want you to tell me if you feel anything different from usual. Or if one side feels different from the other."

Now Sanji's hair was beginning to bristle. "Different how?" he heard his own voice rasp, and he saw Chopper continue to avoid looking straight at him, saw how his mouth stiffened for a few seconds. The doctor was already holding onto his arm, tongue depressor held above his skin, and he heard a frantic buzz, persistent ringing, eerie warnings as he watched inches turn into centimeters.

"It's...easier to just start," was all Chopper said, setting the stick on Sanji's upper right arm. He could feel the grains grating against his skin as it scraped against his (what was it called?) bicep, and it reminded him of the way he'd use his knife to peel a pear or something, even if Chopper wasn't even pressing down, and when Chopper asked if he felt that, he could hear himself dully intone that he did. And Chopper moved to his left and he watched as he did the exact same thing and he felt something twist within him when his voice dutifully informed the both of them that he felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He wanted to say that it was something wrong with his eyes, something wrong with his brain, something wrong with...with _anything_ as long as it wasn't...

Chopper continued moving down his arms. His right arm stopped telling him that the stick was touching him around the elbow. They were getting closer to his wrists.

"Don't."

The tongue depressor halted in the air, shaking. "Sanji...I need to determine what nerves are likely to be damaged."

"I don't want to know."

Chopper hesitated, but still started to lower the stick and Sanji's breath rolled itself up and caught in his throat and he couldn't pull away and he couldn't move his arm and he couldn't even move his goddamn _thumb_ and he didn't want this he didn't he didn't no no no

"_Please!_"

He broke down. Chopper broke down. He felt tears roll down his head and pool in his ears, sink into his pillow, and he could feel Chopper's tears on top of his chest, through the bandages. "It's okay, it'll be okay," Chopper said over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sanji said back. At some point, one of his hands found itself on Chopper's back, and he tried to pat his head, he tried to clutch his fur like a lifeline, he tried to pretend it wasn't there at all and in the end, he knew what he didn't want to know and why, why this, hadn't he been protecting his hands as usual? No matter what happened, no matter who he faced, his one principle of battle had always remained the same so this shouldn't be happening, this was just so _unfair_.

Chopper clung to him. In any other situation, it would be because he was scared and was looking for protection. But not this time; their positions were practically reversed. Sanji didn't know how to feel about that. It was hard to know how to feel about a lot of things.

The two of them quieted down eventually. Chopper let him breathe, in and out, before retreating back to his chair.

"I think...it's a complete brachial plexus lesion in the left arm and radial neuropathy in the right."

The medical jargon did nothing to ground his mind. He stared at the ceiling.

"Your left shoulder blade was damaged extensively, so that may have damaged your nerves, causing the motor and sensory dysfunction," Chopper continued, his voice wavering towards a more clinical nature. "Your right arm was injured around the forearm, and that may have damaged the radial nerve specifically, which is why the whole arm isn't affected by nerve damage, unlike your left arm. Since the dysfunction is asymmetrical, we can rule out central nervous system damage...so...that's good." He could hear the clacking start off again. Chopper was fiddling with his hooves, tapping them against each other like he was having a hard time figuring out how they fit together. "It's...y-you don't have to worry...it's gonna be okay...okay? Please don't..."

No. No, he couldn't, no way. Not worry? His heart was already trying to bang its way out, clamoring for a body with actual _function._ Who cared about the bones? Those always healed, even if he wasn't quite as flexible anymore, even if sometimes he ached and popped a disc or two; what about his _hands?_

"What's the treatment?"

"Well..." said Chopper, and Sanji's stomach plummeted into a deep sea trench. "As long as the central nervous system is fine, your peripheral nerves have the ability to regrow. I mean...depending on the circumstances, nerve damage can be permanent...but hopefully, as long as we're careful, the worst that'll happen is chronic pain." The sound of Chopper's hooves tapping together increased in frequency. "N-not that that's a good thing...but...um...there are pain medications for that...I mean...it'll be okay, Sanji. I didn't – I don't want you to w-worry or anything, you do have a good chance to heal up fine, okay? I-I'll do my best...so..."

Deep breaths. Calm down. Hear that, body? You're not falling apart just yet, shithead, so keep doing your job. "...Yeah. I gotcha. Okay."

Tap tap tap. Chopper's hooves slowed down. "Um. I haven't extensively tested your motor functions yet...are you...?"

Sanji's stomach twisted all the way up to his throat and he wondered what would happen if he threw up. "No. I...I'm sorry, I can't – "

"N-no! It's okay! It's fine! Whatever you want – "

The sudden pause made Sanji turn his head, rubbing his cheek against the uncomfortably damp pillow. Chopper was still seated beside him and he could see tracks of wet fur under his eyes. His breathing was deep and stuttering, but his face didn't look wracked with the effort of holding back tears – rather, Chopper seemed like he was working up the courage for something.

It was enough to whisk all the air out from the atmosphere.

"Sanji...do you want to die...?"

"No," he tried to say, but that one syllable weighed itself down in his throat and refused to get up.

"Don't be ridiculous," he tried again, but he could see Chopper shudder in the silence and after such a long pause, it seemed even more ridiculous to answer so flippantly.

"What's this all of a sudden?" he ended up saying.

"It's just...when you were talking to Luffy...you were saying..."

"It's not like that." It's complicated. "I'm fine." You shouldn't have to hear this.

"But...Sanji...if you feel...if there's something..." Chopper took a hesitant breath but still didn't turn around. "Have you considered...maybe...you have depression...?"

That last ugly word hung around like miasma, making the air heavy as lead. Sanji waved it away by forcing a laugh – it almost sounded desperate to his ears. "I got really upset, didn't I? It's okay, I was just shocked, I'll be – "

"Please, Sanji...I'm being serious, so...listen to me as a doctor."

Chopper was whispering at this point, but it was enough for Sanji's mouth to snap shut.

"I admit that things like depression are out of my field of expertise...but a disease is a disease, and I swore to find a way to cure all of them. It was my fault for being more focused on the things I could see...but these things are treatable, Sanji. There are anti-depressants, and, and, as for the psychoth-therapy, I can do that too! I'll work hard to learn it all!" Chopper finally raised his head to look straight at Sanji, but at this point, the cook already had scrunched his eyes shut. But Chopper wasn't done. "Nobody has to know either; in this case, I'll uphold doctor-patient confidentiality no matter what, okay? No matter if Luffy orders me to tell, or if someone tries to trick me or anything! If you need help, I'm here! I'll always be here! Just ask!"

Chopper's words rang clear as glass, strong as steel, even though Sanji could hear that he was already on the verge of crying again. Despite how loud the reindeer seemed, the noise felt contained. The world shrank until the only existing place was this one room and its inhabitants. There was nothing else beyond this infirmary, its doctor, and a real, bed-ridden idiot.

This one-sided confrontation was much too emotional, it was exhausting, especially after the other conversation with Luffy. It left Sanji breathless even though he hadn't been the one shouting ragged appeals. After everything that happened from when he first regained consciousness, he really didn't want to go through this, he didn't want this conversation, not with Chopper of all people because what the hell was he even supposed to say? He couldn't just deflect and evade and cuss his way out of this like he did with the other guys, not to that face. It was unfair.

But then again, his eyes were closed.

So Sanji started to let out the words that tore his guts apart.

"Don't bite off more than you can chew. You're a doctor, Chopper, not a therapist or whatever."

"B-but," said Chopper and _shit_ he was starting to dissolve into keening.

"My problems are my own. Like you said, just focus on healing me up. Right?"

"B-b-b-but S-San-Sanji...I..."

"I'm gonna sleep now."

Sanji pretended not to hear the stifled sobbing as Chopper finally left, crushed and defeated. The fact that after all that, the doctor still made sure to shut the door as quietly as possible, was something he tried not to dwell on; otherwise, he might hate himself even more.


	3. Trust in Us

Early in the morning, Chopper returned, his fur dry, but his eyes red, and Sanji's mind went dull as he continued his examinations. Poking and pinching and prodding. Asking him if he could do this or that, not looking surprised when he couldn't. In the end, all Sanji learned about his right arm was that he could just about move two fingers. He could raise his arm, but his hand remained limp and he couldn't seem to quite straighten out his elbow.

"I'm going to give you a brace for your arm to help you, um, do things," Chopper concluded as Sanji turned his arm this way and that, distantly watching the way his hand flopped like a grotesque fish.

"Do what?" Sanji said as blandly as he could. The two had completely avoided the topic of last night and it was taking its toll on the both of them. He didn't even dare to do something as volatile as sarcasm, just in case it would set off another emotional scene.

"W-well...you would be able to hold things, kinda? If you balanced it...though I suppose it would take some practice...and if you're able to handle walking around, then it would help you with crutches."

"I can use crutches?" With the whirlwind of thoughts about his hands occupying his mind, he had honestly completely forgotten about his legs. Walking around sounded nice. It sounded like doing _something._ And in any case, it was starting to feel like all his blood had migrated to his back.

Chopper stiffened. "W-well, I mean...it depends on you? You should rest, of course! And you're still connected to an IV, so. But. Well. I guess...if you can handle it without putting too much stress on your legs...?"

Luckily for him, only one of his legs was still in plaster. The other one was wrapped in some sort of thick brace and he was sure it could handle a little pressure, so he would just need one crutch, which was just about all he could hold in the first place. One specialized crutch even, as Chopper explained that he was going to attach something that would allow him to rest his forearm on it for better stability. Chopper wrapped more things around his arm until he felt like an armored soldier (or maybe more like a poseable figure considering the way his hands were adjusted for maximum efficacy). The crutch was clipped into his hand and he was helped up into some sort of standing position.

Walking was like a comedy of errors.

He had to learn how to balance his own weight all over again, and every time he failed, he couldn't even stay up on his own – not without the ability to even flail his arms around to propel himself back upright. Chopper stuck to his side the whole time, alternating between pushing the IV drip along with him and making sure he didn't fall over. Despite all his determination, he could only seem to put up an embarrassing show.

"You're doing alright," was Chopper's only remark, coupled with a smile so encouraging that it was painful. "I don't want you to exhaust yourself or anything...and I don't want you walking around unless I'm there to make sure you're doing alright. You need someone else to handle your IV drip anyways, so you can't actually go anywhere on your own. Um...I...I don't think...you shouldn't be outside for now...so I guess you're confined to the infirmary and the dining room...? Okay?"

It wasn't a large area, but with his crutch it was probably big enough to feel like a trip around the world. Just walking around in the infirmary was winding him out. "Can I see the kitchen?"

"Th-the kitchen is off-limits too! I-I'm sorry, but you might – it could – "

"I just wanna look."

Chopper squeaked something as he hobbled towards the door but opted to follow along rather than let Sanji pull out the IV needle. He was even kind enough to go ahead and open the door for him.

The few people at the dining table seemed just about as surprised to see him as he was seeing them. In the one instant spent gawking at each other, Sanji took in the oppressive atmosphere, the tired eyes, the worried lips. And then in the next instant, these were all shoved desperately to the far corners of the room.

"Sanji!" Usopp jumped out of his seat, abandoning some weird gadget he had been working on. He hadn't worked on his projects at the dining table ever since Sunny gave him an actual workplace. "Chopper told us you woke up yesterday! You're already walking around? That's great!" The sharpshooter had shot himself to his side and raised a hand to clap him on the back, but hesitated. Sanji saw Chopper nod out of the corner of his eye and Usopp completed the affectionate gesture.

At the other end of the dinner table, a rousing violin solo started up. It felt like a massage, something that rubbed his tense muscles down and soothed his back. "Yohohohoho! Seeing you in motion is certainly a sight for sore eyes! But of course, I don't – "

"You joining us for breakfast? It'll be real super to have you 'round again!" Franky's hand was probably large enough to engulf Sanji's entire head, but the cyborg still managed to simply ruffle his hair in an aggravatingly parental manner. Sanji automatically ducked away and ended up almost unbalancing again. The entire room held its breath until Chopper settled him back on his feet, and even then Sanji had to give a weak smile he didn't really feel for everybody else to mirror his expression.

"Maybe. I still feel like shit. But it's nice to see your weird faces again."

"'Weird?!'" came the protests as Sanji made his way towards a chair with Chopper trailing behind. Usopp strode beside him, wagging a finger but not quite physically poking him. "What kinda thing is _that_ to say after being unconscious for days!"

"It's not like I was aware of time, y'know. From my perspective, I coulda been asleep for _minutes._"

"Still, what an incredibly rude greeting, Sanji-san!"

"I can't help it if it's true," he replied with a one-sided shrug as he slid into a seat and slumped in a very ungentlemanly way. His eyes flicked to all three of them in turn. "Weird nose. Weird chin. And I don't even _know_ where to start with you. You're like the Weird Face Trio."

"Ahaha...well, I try my best, bro..."

"He wasn't complimenting you."

"Oh? I wonder if my face is weird too..."

That one voice jolted Sanji back onto his feet and snap his head towards the kitchen. With all the guys that surrounded him, he had been too distracted to even glance at his haven. And so, he hadn't noticed that Robin had been in the room the whole time.

"No! Of course not! Robin-chan's face is always a delight!"

"Ah, a weird face."

"It appears a weird face has shown up."

"We have a new Weird Face bro."

"Shut up!" Sanji snapped at the peanut gallery watching unimpressed from the dining table. His snarling face would have probably been more effective if he could back it up with even a shaking fist, but that was currently an impossibility. After a few awkward seconds during which he attempted to figure out if his limited range of movement included threatening gestures, Sanji turned to Chopper. "Kick them for me."

"That's not what I'm here for!"

"If you aren't too occupied, would you like me to get you a drink, Sanji?" Robin called from the kitchen, unfazed by the ruckus.

"Oh, no need to trouble yourself~" Sanji sang back, going full-speed towards the kitchen even as he started to wonder how exactly he was supposed to carry a glass back to the table.

"Sanji! _Sanji!" _Chopper shouted down by his legs, struggling to catch up without overturning the IV while also trying to get in front of the cook to stop him. "I already told you! You can't go in there!"

Although he stopped himself, Sanji looked from the kitchen back down at Chopper and almost felt like whimpering.

Robin's smile was sympathetic. "I can bring the glass to you."

"Make sure to get him a straw," Chopper told her as he led Sanji back to the table, where Usopp and Franky promised with unspoken words to distract him with the random knick-knacks they were currently working on.

But even with their efforts to make him excited about weird machines or plant weapons, Sanji kept looking back towards the kitchen, watching Robin shuffle about with ingredients and utensils. She seemed to know where to find things pretty well, no doubt due to having to learn within the past few days he was out of commission.

The fact that he actually had to lean over the table to even drink the water Robin brought to him was also making him feel self-conscious, and whenever he straightened back up he kept thinking he'd catch the others with a pitying look in their eyes.

As soon as he finished his drink, he struggled back to his feet. Everybody's questioning words glided off his ears.

"Sorry, I'm feeling tired. Someone can bring me breakfast later."

When Chopper helped him back into the infirmary's bed, he looked like he wanted to say something. Something potentially prodding and personal. And so Sanji ignored him. Chopper lost his nerve shortly after.

* * *

"God, you look pitiful."

"Ah, Nami-san, I'm so lucky that you'd pity a man like me~"

If Nami didn't currently have a tray of steaming soup in her hands, she would have clasped one over her forehead with all the patience of a goddess with a migraine. But she did and so she could only grunt out an onerous sigh. (But a frustrated Nami-san was adorable too~!) "I'd say it's the painkillers talking, but you're normally this stupid."

Sanji shakily scrabbled himself into something approximating a sitting position so that Nami could balance the tray on his lap. With the support of his arm brace, it was getting a lot easier to maneuver himself, which was a lot better than having to ask for someone's help. Not that he liked the idea of getting used to having shitty dysfunctional arms, but he had to cling to any semblance of autonomy he had left or else he'd go crazy.

"So you're here instead of Chopper?" he asked, staring hard at the spoon resting in the bowl. He could see its handle between his fingers, but it was still hard to discern whether it would actually stay. Not when it felt like someone else's hand entirely was grabbing at the utensil. "I'm not complaining, of course, it's just that Chopper's barely left my side. Figured he'd be the one to watch me eat."

"Even doctors need to rest, you know. Chopper's been working himself sick for the past few days." There was a clank as the spoon slipped back into the bowl. He hadn't managed to balance it at all. Sanji hissed back a curse as he glanced at Nami, but she was looking at the far wall, not even facing him. "Robin suggested that he finally get some rest and asked me to bring this instead."

"Aah, Robin-chan's homemade cooking~" he trilled.

"Actually, Usopp made that."

"Tch. That shitty mushroom-hating moron wouldn't know soup if it bit him in the ass." Still, he was already maneuvering his hand around the spoon again. The way he tried to pinch the handle between his pinky and ring finger was probably the most uncomfortable thing he had ever seen. Still, this was the only way he could be sure that the spoon was being held in place by _something. _But then again, he didn't want to do something stupid like somehow dislocate a finger. A conundrum indeed. The spoon remained innocently in the bowl.

"Speaking of inexperienced chefs, we couldn't ask you before who you'd want cooking in your place, being unconscious and all. I mean, we managed to work something out, but if you want to specify who's allowed in the kitchen – "

"Not Luffy."

Was that the beginnings of a smile? "We already know."

"Not the over-muscled brute either," he added as the spoon started to lift off again. As it began to break out of the general bowl area, Sanji started to actually consider the question. "He's competent enough to do dishes though, so get him to do that. You and Robin-chan are always welcome, of course~"

Nami sighed. "Thanks, but the East Blue boys said I'm not allowed to cook. Some of them are still in debt from the last time."

About halfway up, the spoon started to shake, dribblets falling over the sides en masse like overflowing tears. His arm was starting to slow its ascent too, and he frowned at that. At this rate, he would be forced to lean forward awkwardly and see if his lips could reach far enough to suck at least something down his throat. He would probably die of embarrassment if it ever came to that. "Usopp's allowed in too. And Chopper, if he can keep his fur out of the food."

"Chopper? I didn't expect you to say that."

Sanji gave his best go at a shrug, though he couldn't imagine that it looked much different from just another spasm. "He knows herbs. He mixes medicines. If he follows a recipe, he could probably do decently enough."

"Anybody else?"

His arm was refusing to go any higher now, not even managing to get up to his shoulder. And the spoon was now threatening to jitter straight out of his fingers; moving it mouthward was just going to be an unpleasantly messy experience. He let the whole thing fall again. "Brook'll just break _everything_. Shitty skeleton only knows how to boil water, and even _then _he might set something on fire. If everybody else is busy, that half-naked pervert'll do. Just brace yourself for his shitty cola."

"Oh my _god_ will you _just ask for help already."_

Sanji looked up. Without his noticing, Nami had finally turned to look down at him, face flushed and eyes shining like an exploding star. His usual lovestruck smile faltered at the sight of her own expression, a frown of frustration directed at _him,_ and not just the usual, completely understandable frustration she directed towards any of the other idiots on the ship, but the sort of frustration that tried to bite and kick away suffocating helplessness in the way dying animals did against predators.

He looked back down at the untouched soup and was briefly glad that he could still feel whether he was about to bite through his lip before beaming back up at Nami once more. "A-are you offering to spoon-feed me with love, Nami-san?!"

Yes, there it was again, the frustration of being the only reasonable being in the world. Not at all laced with sorrow. "I'll get Zoro to do it."

"_No._"

His immediate horror might have induced laughter in any other situation, but Nami's expression only darkened, now as stormy as the seas she often navigated. Sanji paused again before lightly saying, "With his shitty sense of direction, I doubt he'd even find my – "

"You're unbelievable," Nami snapped, her nails clicking against the spoon's handle as she scooped it up and jabbed it into Sanji's open mouth. It wasn't the _best_ method of transporting soup into someone's stomach (not that he would say (not that he could say)) and he almost gagged out the entire spoonful. Rivulets trickled down his chin and mingled with his facial hair before they could reach his bandaged torso. Despite his preoccupation with not drowning on a ship that wasn't even sinking, he still felt out the soup with a chef's tongue – it had been rather clear, but was also relatively bland, as though someone had soaked a fish in a pot of water and called it a day.

"Naggi-gwahhn?" he managed to gurgle around the metal protrusion. Miraculously, no more soup spilled out of his mouth. He was trying to swallow it down before anything more could be wasted, but every time he tried, the back of his throat pushed painfully against the spoon and it felt like everything went down the wrong way and if he coughed, he would _surely_ spit on Nami's pure visage completely accidentally by chance and if that happened he would probably throw himself off the ship right then and there –

"You really haven't changed at all," said the navigator, as though she wasn't stabbing a blunt object through his face. "After all this time..."

Finally, she deigned to release his esophagus. Sanji took a moment to swallow and lick some of the excess soup off his chin. "I – "

Nami shoved more soup in his mouth, but this gesture was less sharp, thankfully, and he was able to gulp this spoonful down without incident. He was starting to get the idea and obediently kept his mouth closed, even as the sides of the utensil bit at the side of his cheek.

"You haven't even matured one bit. After all this time. Unbelievable." The spoon clacked back into the bowl and immediately resurfaced, this time shaking with the tension that traveled from Nami's set jaw. "Even I got stronger after two years, you know. I was training all that time to _fight._ I'm a part of the crew too. So was that for nothing, then?"

She paused, like she really did want an answer, but it was hard to give one with his mouth full. Even if he could, the way the conversation would go was already mapping itself out in his mind; No, no, of course not, Nami-san, I would never; So then why did you do that?; I just didn't want, I couldn't, if I came back and found you...gone; So you think I can't take care of myself; No, no no no; How ironic, coming from a worthless man who couldn't even take care of himself; No, it wasn't like that; (she throws the bowl against the wall, it shatters, shards falling like cherry blossoms, but harsh, much too harsh, breaking skin only recently healed, soup everywhere, too much soup, flooding with soup) I could never love someone like you (she opens the door and leaves, disappears from his life forever and never looks back and)

Okay, woah there. That got a little out of hand.

Sanji sucked on his cheek as Nami removed the spoon. Before she could stuff his mouth again, he said, "It's just, if I'm there, then you don't have to fight."

The spoon froze above the soup. "Why, 'cause you can get beaten to a bloody pulp instead?"

"If you had – I just don't want – " He took a deep, rattling breath, tried again, couldn't find the words. His eyes drifted, flickered over to her hands, soft but slightly calloused at her fingertips, tinged with ink in some places where she had been less attentive in washing. Overall, they fit the definition of 'unwounded.'

He asked, "How are you?"

"I should be asking you that," she said, her amber eyes flitting to his own pale hands just lying there at his sides and looking as fine as hers. He couldn't help but glower at that – completely unwounded but still broken all the same, what a fucking joke. So glad the cosmos and its reigning gods had such _humor._

"I'm fine as long as you're fine." His smile was utterly genuine when Nami turned towards him again, he made extra sure of that. But her eyes only seemed to get colder.

"You're not a knight, Sanji-kun." she said, some of her glare injected in her voice. "And I'm not some precious china doll."

He had to falter at that and settled his fluttering gaze at the bowl instead. "I – I know, but..."

"People get hurt." Her hands were retreating now, pulling back towards herself. He refused to follow.

"I know," he repeated, more firm in facts. "I _know_ that, so that's why I – "

"Look at me," she said, and he couldn't say no, looking up into dyed skin as blue as his own eyes. "Here." A perfect, faintly-inky finger tapped at something above the tattoo. Skin much newer than the rest around it, paler, slightly raised. He remembered it being redder, before, and the memory of red clenched at his throat and turned his head away.

Nami's hand snaked out and grabbed at his chin and he didn't – couldn't – resist when she jerked it back towards the scar. "Look," she repeated and let the command sink into his head, didn't even seem to notice that some soup residue was getting on her fingers.

It was jagged, like lightning. Or maybe a barbed dart, but elongated. It curved slightly, disappearing down her back where he couldn't see, not that he would ask; Nami's position already looked pretty uncomfortable, twisted as she was. His eyes couldn't help but trail it in wonder, up and down, up and down, inclines so steep that no mountain climber could scale them.

"I got hurt. But I'm still here."

And he held in a breath as his eyes hardened itself against – not tears, no, shut up – and that soothing, soft voice brought to mind all the what-ifs and maybes that squeezed his heart and spurred his legs to be there, just _be there_ before anything happened. Let none of them be there in place of him, never, never never never

"Sanji-kun. Your hands."

He released a breath and the grip that he didn't realize he had. There were imprints of his own fingernails deep in his palm, but he hadn't felt a thing, and if he looked away, there was absolutely no proof that anything had happened.

"I just," he said, his voice raw, and then stopped. It felt like someone was prying open his ribcage, but he couldn't let this go further. It was too personal, too private, too selfish.

"Finish," said Nami, and she didn't mean the soup.

His ribs snapped open like crab legs, leaving his heart bare for the world to see, and wasn't it lucky that only one person was here to witness it, and wasn't it unlucky that the person was Nami, and wasn't it the case that this situation was horribly twisted about, the roles all swapped? This shouldn't be happening at all, wasn't he the supporting pillar? But of course, he couldn't even stand and so the words spilled out anyways, sluggish and under his breath.

"I don't want it to happen. Not again."

If Nami was curious about that enigmatic wording, she didn't show it. Instead, she readjusted her shirt and swept another spoonful of soup into his mouth. "Then trust in us, you moron."


	4. He Was Always Prepared for the Worst

The bandages were starting to come off, and no more icky IV needles either, which was a blessed relief.

The problem was with certain pains gone, there was nothing to distract him from certain other pains. Like the way his shitty goddamn cast itched against his shins. And the stupid, sanitized, fucking _distasteful_ smell of the infirmary. And then, of course, there was the sweating, the headaches, the shaking, the sleepless nights, the _goddamn shitty stupid headaches_...

"Get me a cigarette," he snapped at the sound of the opening door, not even sure who his visitor was.

"You're not supposed to smoke."

"Fuck you." He leveled his best glare towards Usopp, but considering the subdued reaction, it probably looked more like a confused squint. He opened his mouth, snapped it shut, sighed into his hand on their way through his hair, and slid dramatically down the headrest before bouncing back up again. Casually resting his arm on the nearby side table (and casually ignoring the sound his pinky made as it jammed itself over and over again on the surface of the wood), Sanji strained against a casual smile as he tried to reason with his current caretaker.

"Look. Look, okay? Chopper always makes a big deal out of it, but it's not like it's a _problem_ or anything. Okay? Just one. It's not like you're telling me where you hid all the damn packs, right? Just one, yeah? I've got an unfinished box anyways, and they're just _sitting_ there."

"Forget it, Sanji," Usopp grumbled as he set today's haphazard dinner in front of the cook, effectively chaining his legs. "Chopper already explained why you absolutely can't smoke this time. With, like, the blood vessels and the...the...small things...boa constrictors...and...okay, the _point_ is, you want your nerves to actually grow back, right?"

Sanji didn't even bother to hide his somehow threatening pout as he sank back into the pillow once more. Rather than admit anything, he said, "You ugly motherfucking douche-guzzling cock-sucker go jerk off your sweet dickprince of a nose you son of a flying shit."

For a moment, there was absolutely no sound beyond the rapid tap-tap-tapping machine gun known as Sanji's pinky.

"You might hurt your hand doing that."

The sound abruptly stopped for about three seconds. It stopped again when Usopp managed to fish out some kind of putty from his bag and placed it gingerly under Sanji's hand. Though he couldn't actually feel what he was doing to the gray lump of dough, he could feel the calming effect of harmlessly squishing something into paste. His breathing slowed.

"...Sorry. You're not actually a cock-sucker. And even if you are, there's nothing actually wrong with that."

Usopp finally sat down, trying hard to ignore the fate of his kneaded eraser. "What about the other stuff?"

Sanji looked like he was putting some serious thought to it as his hand continued going to town as best as it could in its condition. "Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it's not actually possible to have shit that flies and gives birth and probably less possible to fuck it, I don't actually know what a douche is, and whatever you do with your goddamn nose is none of my business."

"Apology accepted. I guess." Usopp coughed, glancing at the steaming plate of beef and probably steamed vegetables. "You gonna eat or what?"

Sanji abandoned the eraser and replaced it with a fork. At this point, he had enough practice with his useless arms to manage some basic tasks, and even if the shaking was still a thing, he could shovel everything in his mouth quickly enough to make that a non-issue. At the very least, he felt well enough to shit-talk anything and everybody. "Vegetables're steamed too long," he said between swallows. "And what the hell, you charred this meat! Didja think you could cover it up with this watery-as-shit sauce? Christ, you're all _hopeless_ without me."

"Actually," said Usopp, leaning back in his chair and trying hard not to smile, "Robin made that."

Sanji stopped mid-chew and ruminated, letting the dish settle on his taste buds.

"Well, not like she was trained to cook."

He could feel Usopp's widened stare as he started eating again, as mediocre as the food was. The sniper seemed to be chewing on his cheek, waiting in silence for the typical high-pitched crooning that never came. "Holy shit, you _are _sick."

"Oh, _really_?" he drawled, and Usopp stuttered over his own prepared deflection. Sanji didn't blame him, even he would have expected something more accusatory, like the customary 'what's _that_ supposed to mean,' with maybe some more cursing thrown in for good measure. Instead, he felt himself sinking into bed again as he ate, the plate in front of him looking more like a line. It made swallowing a little uncomfortable, as the back of his throat had to push against his – his tongue, maybe? But it felt so _right._ It was the perfect position to grouse in. "Everything's fucking terrible. I hate everyone. Except-for-Nami-san-and-Robin-chan," he added in one breath, making it sound more like punctuation than an actual statement.

He heard the chair slide against the floor and the clomp of Usopp's boots as he started to back away. "Look, if you want, I can leave...or get one of the girls to – "

"No."

The fork was hanging off his lip like an ornament. With the way his bangs splayed over his eyes, it must have looked remarkably like he had simply fallen asleep in the middle of his meal.

"Sorry. I'm just cranky. Stay."

Usopp had paused, door handle half-turned, but at these words his hand twitched. It was hard not to notice, the only movement in an otherwise still room. Sanji pressed the fork between his lips.

"Something wrong?" Another twitch, sharper, more sudden, but still no answer. "You're pretty low-energy today. Usually you just talk your head off. Babble about shit like how you slayed the whatevers on Who Gives a Shit Island."

"I can't be_lieve_," said Usopp, slowly turning around, and there was no smile, no forced cheer, no prepared line about how everything'll be fine and nothing to be scared of, no distracting conversation, no...no _Usopp._ "Even when you're like this, you're still looking out for me."

Sanji blinked. Shrugged, because he now had the freedom to. "Like _what?_ I'll heal. Chopper said so. Good as new." Another shrug, both a dismissal and a reminder of how well he was doing.

"It's just...seeing you like this...you look like..." Usopp's hand shook almost as much as Sanji's as he covered half his face and glanced away.

No use. It looked like _he'd_ have to fill Usopp's usual role. The forced chuckle felt as natural as using dull knives, not at all like faked aggression and machismo. "C'mon, your face is depressing. You'll make Nami-san cry and then I'd have to kick your ass."

"It's not just me, y'know. Everybody's...we're all...I mean..." With a sigh and a tug at his curls that threatened to entangle his own fingers, Usopp finally succumbed to the atmosphere and slouched against the wall. He was usually so expressive but now his lips were pressed flat. The subtle way his brow furrowed was so slight as to be startling. "We...you've always tried so hard to...to make sure that we're all happy."

"What the hell, you're saying you can't make your own fun without me there to piss off?" His smile was starting to falter. It would be nice, really, to have Luffy's utter lack of social awareness for times like these. Pretending to ignore the way that Usopp had trouble looking at him was more exhausting than it should be.

The sniper shook his head firmly, his dark locks bouncing side to side. "You've always _tried._ _So hard._ To make sure we're _all_ happy." Steeling himself with a sigh, Usopp finally aimed his nose towards the bed. "You're still doing it. You're still worried about me. Even now."

Sanji opened his mouth but found that he had run out of denials. "So what," he rasped instead.

At that, Usopp ducked his head again, his hand jerking to the back of his neck. "Nothing. Never mind," he mumbled, making for the door again with all the show of an embarrassingly self-conscious boy, but his voice had that bitter bite of disappointment. "I'll just...I don't want to bother you or anything, so..."

"You're not," he snapped with a speed that conveyed more desperation than irritation. "Really, you're not. Just...look." And he huffed as he would if he had a cigarette, slow and even, practiced enough to know how to not cough. He wasn't sure if he was going to regret this, but he was plunging in anyways before his mind could hold him back. "I...could use your...if you don't mind, I mean. Could you...help me?"

No answer. Usopp turned, but his feet didn't move with him, and he looked about as surprised as Sanji felt.

"Just if you're not busy or anything," Sanji continued, feeling a bubble of black, sludgy denial rise in his stomach that could only be pushed back with justifications. "I mean, if you aren't gonna be a shitty decent guy and give me my goddamn smokes – "

"Hell no."

" – then I need something else to calm me the fuck down. 'Cause I'm going crazy without them." The fork twisted around in his hand in agreement. "So like. If you want to, I mean. And don't need to, like, make more of your shitty as shit soup for the poor bastards on this ship. If you could..."

He gulped. His pores suddenly felt like floodgates, and was it his imagination or was his sweat actually steaming? "...Tell me one of your shitty-ass stories."

Usopp blinked and his mouth curled at nostalgic memories of similarly-feigned disinterest, long and drawn-out sit-ins at the kitchen where his voice would go hoarse, and not from the constant smoke that always hung from the ceiling like a chandelier. But he just stood there, rocking with the movements of the ship, and Sanji wondered if maybe this time he laid it on a bit too thick and he knew that he was hard to deal with at the best of times but lately it seemed like he just couldn't do anything right and he just pissed people off or made them sad and he knew it was because of this shitty, beaten-up body and if Usopp didn't want to have to deal with that then it was fine, totally fine, he didn't need anything, never really wanted anything, but this time, this time, maybe...

Usopp plunked back down in the chair with a wry grin plastered on his face. "Yeah, yeah, okay, you big dumb romantic _nerd._"

Sanji popped a cauliflower into his mouth to shove back a sigh that almost escaped. He couldn't quite stop his lips from curling almost as much as his eyebrows as he drawled, "Just shut up and do your thing. We all know how much you love the sound of your own voice."

"Why don't _you_ shut up and let me 'do my thing?'" Usopp snorted, but it was aimed at the ceiling rather than at his current audience, and leaned back; the chair creaked in trepidation on two legs, evoking the feeling of a rocking chair and a crackling fireplace and a sense of overwhelming comfort that enveloped Sanji like a handmade blanket.

There was nothing to do but let himself sink in this imagined scene, lie back and shut himself up with another disappointing piece of shredded beef (sorry Robin-chan, you tried, oh how you tried...), and let his mind wander away in that strange state before sleep that felt like quicksand, or maybe treacle.

Usopp scrunched his face in a look of chiseled pondering before his eyes took on that shine of inspiration; yet, he didn't have that dramatic grin that accompanied his usual storytelling escapades. Instead, a more solemn look graced his face as he readied a breath and began:

Once upon a time ('cause that's how all stories start), there was a prince of a far-away kingdom who had anything that anyone would want. I mean, being a prince and all, he had wealth, power, command of an army, and a horde of castle staff that would carry out his every whim. Despite that, he was known as a kind prince, someone who wished for everybody to be happy. The subjects of this kingdom knew this well and he was well-loved for this.

But he wasn't happy. There was an ache in his heart for something that he could not get staying within the kingdom: he wanted to see the ocean. Despite being on land for all his life, the boundaries of countries felt almost stifling to him, and he dreamed of being absolutely free one day on a beautiful sea of the purest blue. He wanted so desperately to sail at least _once_ that he begged his father to let him go. ("Sounds like a real brat.")

Anyways, the prince's father finally agreed, and the prince rode out on his horse to find the sea he loved. Though the people of the kingdom were sad to see him go, they sent him off with a parade and much cheering, pretending that they were not worried at all about how quickly their little prince was growing up.

The prince knew where he was going, though, and he knew that it would only be a few weeks until he reached the shore. The trip wouldn't be that long at all, relatively speaking. But there was a problem.

You see, the prince was a man of principles, and he had quite a few of those that he always upheld. First, he could never turn down a desperate person who was helpless. Second, he vowed to be a servant to all women, and so would never raise a hand against them. And so on.

("What, was this shitty brat a cook too?"

"Shhhhshhshush! I'm trying to tell a story here!")

So because of his love for people, the prince would be going on his journey and then he'd run into someone in trouble and would feel obligated to help. He saved princesses, he slew monsters, he even helped an ill farmer run his fields for the sake of his family. That took up time, more time than just a few weeks, and sometimes even took him further from the sea he so wanted to sail on. But still, he gave and gave and gave, because he was young and felt that there was always more to give, nothing to take.

A few months later, the prince had made quite a bit of progress towards the sea, when he came to this run-down village. As he stopped to rest, he could see that the place was occupied by the dead and dying, people half-starved and ill from disease and malnutrition. His overwhelming concern led him to ask what was wrong, and the people told him that bandits had pretty much conquered the village. They usually had a really strong fighter to fend them off, but the bandits had cleverly captured him in a strange magic cage and so they had fallen. The bandits now stole everything from them often, grabbing any food almost as soon as it was grown and selling off anything of worth.

Of course, the prince couldn't leave this village without helping them somehow, and so he promised to free their strong fighter who could then continue to protect them. Two villagers joined him in order to help out, as well as to show him the way to the bandit camp. The two villagers were pretty sneaky. One of them even pilfered the keys they needed to free the strong fighter. But on their way to the strange magic cage where the strong fighter was being held, there was a problem. Because a female bandit started to pursue them...

_...and of course infiltrating the brig would attract attention, as much as they managed to avoid the Marines for this long. Nami was bent at the door to the cells beyond, cursing as key after key failed to click and why the hell would you put so many keys on one ring, anyways?! Sanji kept watch on the makeshift barricade, which was getting less 'barricade' and more 'makeshift' every second. He was trying to tune out Usopp's constant whimpering and played out the various possible scenarios in his mind. None of them seemed particularly good. He gnawed on his cigarette so hard that it might've snapped in half._

"_Got it!" crowed Nami as the door finally opened. This happened about the same time that the barricade finally succumbed to its inevitable fate and exploded in a shower of splinters. Usopp screeched and ducked his head. Nami whirled around, wielding the key like a dagger. Sanji just stood in front of them, arm raised to shield his face as he wondered why these things always go wrong._

_The woman standing over the ruins of the unfortunate barricade was known as Roulette, a fierce bounty hunter with a fierce arsenal to match. Normally, she wouldn't even be at this base, but she just so happened to be turning in another bounty at the same time they staged their break-in, and of course she couldn't resist the opportunity to cash in a little more. The only upside was that she was just as recalcitrant to alert the Marines as they were, since if she specifically didn't capture them, then she wouldn't get the bounty. How fortuitous._

_The three of them turned and ran through the door, down to the brig, not even taking the time to shut the door behind them. Sanji couldn't say that he was used to running away, but there weren't too many options for a guy like him in this situation._

"_Geez! Why can't she just leave us alone?!" Nami whined, and Sanji found himself wishing he could erase the target of her ire, if only it weren't for who the target actually was._

"_Sure-Kill – "_

"_Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing, aiming that at a lady!"_

"_Sanji, this really isn't the time!"_

"_Uh-oh...guys, stop! Stop!"_

_Sanji looked up and found that at some point, a squadron of marines had assembled in front of them. Of course. They captured one of the most dangerous men alive, of _course_they'd guard him to make sure he doesn't escape._

"_Aagh! They're pointing guns!"_

"_Alright boys, rush through them!__"_

"_What the hell are you talking about?! And that woman's still behind us!"_

_It was a shitty place to get cornered. The bounty hunter was even starting to shoot, and though she couldn't aim well while running, any one of them could get hit by ricocheting bullets. The hallway was too narrow to make a good battle space, and there were no side hallways to duck into. If it was just the marines, it would have been fine. They have even less room to maneuver in, packed up like sardines. But with a wild card coming up from behind, someone with the advantage of more space and unknown capabilities, it seemed too easy for the two sides to close in on them and overwhelm them._

_Sanji took in a breath of smoke._

"_Stay close behind me. I'll make an opening and we'll rush through, okay?" He waited long enough to hear anything that could be construed as agreement and then zoomed ahead to the line of marines. Before any of them could realize that he had gotten close, he shot a kick and knocked back a column of marines down the hall._

_It still wasn't enough. The gap he made simply filled with more marines. Leaping back to avoid the butt of a rifle and a swipe of a sword, he leaned back onto his hands and spun, letting his feet whirl around him, forcing everybody to either give him a wide berth or get slammed unconscious into the walls. Once he was done, the marine squadron was less of an organized troop and more of a mess on the floor._

"_Alright, let's go!" Sanji called back, turning his head, only to find that he had been too slow._

_Roulette had caught up. And behind him, Usopp and Nami had been fighting._

_Both of them had their weapons out, but he could see one of Usopp's arms hanging, limp and bloody, making his Kuro Kabuto difficult to use. His other arm was occupied with trying to untangle his legs from the bolas tying them together. Nami at least had both arms, but she was leaning against the wall and he could see that she was trying not to put any weight on one of her legs, meaning that she couldn't dodge incoming attacks too well. It was hard to judge what damage they had done to Roulette with the cloak she wore, but she was still standing and both of her hands held something dangerous – in one, a pistol, and in the other, a Haki-infused whip that was currently trying to pull Nami's Clima-Tact out of her grip._

_Her grin wasn't proud, nor was it triumphant. It was almost pitying. "...Your gimmicks might have supported you up to now, but this is the New World. Do you think you're anything special here?"_

_How could this happen? How could he let this happen? He was only supposed to have taken a second – why couldn't he have prevented this?_

"_Shit," he hacked out, his mind going blank but his feet already turning him back around to stop the worst case scenario from happening. And then someone shot him in the shoulder._

"_Sanji!" he heard Usopp call out, and that was wrong, they shouldn't be worried about _him, _no matter how many bullets he took. The kinetic energy make his whole left side push forward, and he used that to spin on his foot and deliver a reverse roundhouse kick right into the shitty marine's head. Still, he toppled down and bounced off the cold rock floor._

"_How's _this_for a 'gimmick?!'"_

_Useless, useless, useless. What was he doing like this? He could hear the fight starting up again. A deafening roar of wind; the sound of metal grinding against stone; Usopp's groans of "Are you kidding me?"_

_When he was on his feet once more, he saw that Nami was pointing her Clima-Tact at the bounty hunter, shooting powerful gusts down the hall. Roulette, in turn, had apparently abandoned her weapons for heavy gauntlets that she was using to anchor herself to the floor – and advance towards them, apparently. Eventually, the wind from Nami's Clima-Tact petered out, and Roulette used this chance to pounce forward, gauntlets bared like claws. Both Nami and Usopp yelped in surprise, scrabbling backwards._

_Sanji blocked one with his leg. The sharp metal dug into his flesh, felt like it was grabbing at his bone. The other he couldn't block and took right in his side. He could feel his suit starting to get damp with blood. It was another one ruined, he supposed._

"_Sanji! Why'd you – you know you can't handle her! Get outta here!"_

"_Take the keys and find Luffy! We can manage somehow!"_

_Leave? Leave them behind? With a bounty hunter who made a living going against New World pirates? The thought left a painful choking feeling in his gut, one that wasn't currently being inflicted by the metal tickling his ribs. Leave...and come back to what? What would he see if he left?_

"_I want to make a deal with you," he told her._

_Roulette's face was professionally passive, but the way her gauntlets relaxed their grip on his flesh told him she was listening._

"_If you promise to not pursue the other members of the Straw Hat Pirates, I promise to give myself up without a fight and let you cash in on my bounty."_

_Briefly, there was the sound of nothing. And then:_

"_What the hell are you _talking _about?!"_

"_Don't be an idiot! You think we'd let you do something stupid like that!?"_

_In his position, he couldn't move much. He could only turn his head slightly to address his crew members. "You two...don't just sit around. The captain is the top priority, isn't he?"_

_Before any other protests could start up, Sanji turned back to Roulette. "Think about it. My head is worth more than both of theirs combined. You don't have to worry about accidentally killing me and losing part of the cut because I'm surrendering. And you know...there's a whole crew of angry pirates willing to ambush you. You're an expert. I'm sure you know how dangerous it is to get attacked by a group. But with this deal..."_

_The sound the gauntlets made as they slid out of his body was sickening. Sanji stumbled back, coughing as his blood started to make their quick exit out of the new holes in him. He tried to plug his side with his working arm._

_Roulette's eyes examined him, then focused on a spot behind him. "Your fellow crew members don't seem to support this deal."_

_He could vaguely see Usopp pulling back the string of his slingshot with his teeth. Which was ridiculous. As a sniper, he should know that the best attack was a surprise attack – this was way too telegraphed._

_Nami's mouth was not similarly occupied. She pointed her Clima-Tact like a sword, but the fury in her eyes seemed the bigger danger. "Move," she ordered him, and Sanji silently apologized for his defiance._

"_The decision is my own," he said to all of them in the hallway. "You're making the deal with me alone. Any other opinion is irrelevant."_

_The only warning Sanji had was the sound of something whistling towards his head and so he only had time to raise his arm to block. Nami stopped her Clima-Tact from hitting it, lips thin and pale from the scream she was holding in, eyes bleeding resentment and fear and a chilling disrespect._

"_Your captain is waiting," he told her, looking down because he couldn't face the waves of emotion that burst out of her being. "Remember what's important."_

_Nami lowered her Clima-Tact, expression unchanging, and Sanji wondered if his last memory of her would be tinged with shame and disappointment and a crippling hole in his heart. She spun around, hooking Usopp by the arm, and rushing down the hall. Usopp, startled by this sudden development, lost the grip of Kabuto's band and accidentally shot a flurry of vines uselessly into the ceiling. He stuttered and babbled as they retreated, a constant string of defiant confusion: "Wh-what? We're really just gonna let him _do _this?! H-hey, Nami, you heard what he said, right? He's gonna – don't pull on my nose!"_

_The hallway soon descended into silence._

"_So?" Sanji asked Roulette._

_She stared at him through hooded eyes, slowly slipping her gauntlets off and tucking them away somewhere in her cloak. "I have a few conditions." Her hand withdrew into view once more, grasping a pistol. She gestured it to his uninjured leg and arm. "I would like to immobilize you. For security, you understand."_

"_Of course," he said. He was starting to get dizzy and so stumbled to the nearby wall and slid down until he sat on the floor with his legs outstretched. Did he feel too hot or too cold? It was hard to answer._

_Roulette paused, looking down at him. "I have to admit that I'm surprised. I don't encounter many people who would willingly surrender like this."_

_He tried to rest his head against the wall but it pounded too much to get comfortable. "I'm someone who prefers the least amount of casualties possible...anyways, make sure that I don't bleed out, _mademoiselle._"_

_He still screamed when he felt the cleat stomp on his leg. There was no avoiding that. She was absolutely thorough too, grounding it into uselessness. He managed to make less sound when she shot a bullet at his right arm, nothing more than a choke and a wheeze. No way for him to back out and escape, even if he wanted to. What professionalism. He could almost fall in love._

_He could feel himself get picked up, get draped over an armored shoulder without a second thought. The pressure on his stomach threatened to make him throw up all the contents of his stomach, along with possibly a few organs. It was probably polite to let his captor know, but his tongue seemed too thick and clumsy to convey anything more complicated than a hacking groan._

_They exited the brig, went up the stairs, each step juttering straight into his guts, and returned to the big, open room that used to have a barricade in it. Sanji decided that it was definitely cold. It was because the room was too damn big. Too much space for the air to spread out and chill. He was pretty sure that's how air worked._

_Something rippled and shimmered in front of him. The something was empty space, which was thrown off like a cloak to reveal Nami, her staff bubbling some sort of weather thing. He saw her swing it in his direction, and then he saw nothing but a blur that kept going as Roulette spun around to meet the sudden threat. The space between Sanji's ears buzzed with vertigo._

"_So you don't intend to uphold the deal," he might have heard._

_A scoff. "I don't remember making _any _deals. I'll be taking our idiot back."_

"_He's right, you know. It's less trouble for both me and you if I just take him. A fight isn't necessary – "_

"_What, and let this nice big space go to waste? You haven't even seen all my gimmicks yet!"_

_There was a pause, and Sanji briefly wondered if the world had stopped for a moment. Then the floor came up to meet him and he bounced and rolled, watching as he trailed red. The thud he made when he fell seemed to repeat over and over in his head._

"_Do you really think you can beat me? I've fought against Devil Fruit users."_

"_That's nothing special. Besides...even if I can't win, all I need to do is delay you..."_

_Sanji lost his focus and his hearing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel an urge to get up get up get _up _but there wasn't much he could do and he was tired. He ought to stand up and protest, he ought to be stronger than this, didn't he say that he'd get stronger? But he guessed he messed up somewhere along the way because if he closed his eyes he could already see himself on that damn rock again but haha joke's on him, his eyes were already closed and then after that_

"...the prince died."

Sanji's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"He died," Usopp repeated with a weighted shrug. "The villager tried to fight the bandit and get help as fast as she could, but it was too late. The prince died without ever even seeing the ocean."

The fork paused over the last piece of carrot, shivering slightly. After his reverie, the sudden ending was...just a little...

"A bit of a downer, isn't it? You're usually all over happy endings."

Usopp jittered a leg, looked away with a hand on his chin, looked back. "Sanji, I _know_ I wasn't being subtle at all. I'm trying to make a _point_ here."

"What, that dreams don't come true?"

"_No,_" Usopp growled, and by the way his shoulders shuddered, it seemed he was struggling to not make it a shout. "It's that _your_ dream won't come true if you keep _doing_ this shit!"

"Maybe there's a _good reason_ I'm 'doing this shit,' shithead."

"_I know!_ I _know_ your stupid reasons, because _I'm_ the one you keep standing in front of!" Usopp was standing again, his arms a mess of accusatory jabbing and nonsensical waving and an occasional swipe through his hair, but his jaw was still clenched against raising his voice so he just sounded like he had just dropped a hammer on his foot and was trying to hold in his screams. "You didn't _have_ to take Enel's shock right in the face, you know!"

"What, you think I can outrun _lightning_ all of a sudden?!"

"I'm _saying, _if you had enough time to kick me out of the way, then you had enough time to – "

"I think _I_ of all people know what I had time to do or _not!_" It wasn't until he felt the sharp pain traveling up his leg that he realized he was trying to stand up too, anything to make Usopp not loom over him. He flinched away from the floor but held in his hiss of pain, stuck between retreating back into bed and standing up for his own pride.

Usopp didn't give him a choice, already pushing his shoulders back so that he was at least sitting on the side of bed, if not lying down. But his concern didn't lower his volume. "What about Sabaody, then, huh?! You ran in front of me to let me escape!"

"Yeah! So?! What, you've got a fucking problem with _running away _all of a sudden_?_"

"_We_ should've escaped! I stayed because _we_ should've ran away!"

"Well, the goddamn truth is _none _of us got the fuck away from that shitty fuckmouth asshole, so I'd say this whole moronic shitstain of an argument is fucking _pointless!"_

"This argument isn't about whether we actually could've gotten the hell out of there, you stupid jackass! It's about why _you_ keep throwing yourself into, like, _death_ to take care of _me_ when you should at _least_ take care of _yourself!_ You wanted _me_ to escape but _what about you?!_"

"_You're too fucking optimistic!"_

It took him far too long to realize what he had done.

Usopp was on the floor. His hand should be stinging, but he felt nothing.

If he had just stopped at slapping away his hand, it would be fine. But Usopp had unbalanced backwards onto the floor, and on the outside he probably only got a minor scrape, but...

He looked away. He didn't want to see the change in expression on the sniper's face when the moment caught up to him too. "I'm sorry. I didn't...shit, I'm such a..."

"So you think I'm an idiot?" Usopp's voice wasn't dangerously low, but it was still dangerous in a quavering sort of way that gripped Sanji's heart.

"No, that's – "

"I'm naïve?"

"I didn't mean it like that. _Fuck._" Thankfully, Usopp was patient as Sanji trembled a hand to his pocket and remembered that there was nothing there to smoke. "There's...there's nothing wrong with being optimistic. That's good, okay? _Shit._ It's like...if you don't think you can do things, then you fucking don't do it. But if you're all optimistic and crap, it's like...you _can._ Or try or whatever. Pessimists don't try."

"But...?" Usopp prompted, cutting short his rambling lecture.

"But. _But_...not everybody on the ship should be like...like, carefree and shit. At least someone's gotta be prepared for the worst."

"And what does that mean?"

Sanji fruitlessly searched his pockets again, just in case some tiny stub had somehow worked its way into the creases. "It means I'm prepared for the worst."

"You're avoiding the question," Usopp snapped, on his feet again, but he stayed where he was, didn't look like he was leaving. Even Sanji would have left at this point.

"Just don't worry about it," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Whatever happens, I've prepared myself." And with that, he swung his legs back into bed, letting them fall like a guillotine. The end of the conversation.

Not that Usopp got the memo. "Goddammit, _Sanji._" His pleading approach was stopped short by an empty plate.

"Here. Wash it clean."

Usopp bit his lip, stared at the wobbling plate that was already starting to drift downwards.

"Take the shitty thing already, I can't hold it up forever."

"I'm supposed to be your friend, but you won't even let me help you," Usopp muttered bitterly and he _really_ didn't need this, c'mon, Usopp, he was _tired,_ just _go away_. "You're always helping me, telling me stuff I need to hear or something. But if I can't do the same for you...doesn't that make me a leech...?"

Oh god. "Usopp, you're not a leech."

"But I've never been able to _do_ anything for you!"

"I _know_ you're talking shit, 'cause you've backed my ass up plenty of times."

"But if we're friends, _equal_ friends, then why won't you _tell me?_" Usopp's head was bowed, but it was the perfect angle to see his watery eyes behind the tip of his quivering nose. And, something new he just learned, Usopp's lips were absolutely _perfect_ for pouting.

Oh _god._

Sanji sighed and set the plate back down. The sound that Usopp made was something akin to a gleeful demon prodding at some poor sap, though this comparison was not _entirely_ fair.

The cook rubbed at his forehead, his headache suddenly giving a strong pulse, and glared at the ceiling. "People die, Usopp."

"Well, _we've..."_ Usopp's belligerent retort trailed off as a memory resurfaced, scars still fresh despite two years having passed.

"Yeah. If you think Merry's gonna be the only casualty that we'll ever have...well...that's optimistic. Don't interrupt me," he said, not even glancing towards the sniper. He heard the answering click of teeth against teeth.

There was no cigarette, so Sanji had to make do with fiddling with the fork; a horribly childish activity, but his fingers needed to do something. "...So that's what I'm prepared for."

"To..._die?_" The voice that rasped off to his side sounded almost like a frog and he would have laughed under different circumstances. The fork continued turning in place.

"I'm prepared to do anything to make sure everybody lives."

"Yeah...but..."

The plate came up again, this time more firmly. "Just wash the damn thing already."

"But _Sanji – "_

"Goddammit, how long are you gonna pester me, asshole? I already told you what you wanted to know."

There was no answer to that, just heavy breathing under the strain of heavy information.

"Just...go away." And for this he took up all his dwindling reserves of rot and tar and slime from the very dregs of his being, "You're being a fucking bother."

The plate was taken wordlessly, and the door was just as silent on the way out.

Usopp didn't swear to anything, but Sanji knew he wouldn't tell. The very act of confessing was already like a binding promise, especially because of the horrible contents of the confession itself, things that he knew were too heavy and uncomfortable for anybody else to hear, things that would distance everybody from him like the diseased person he truly was until the relationships between them simply rotted and fell away and their ties were no more. Nobody would want to stick around a sinking ship.

Well. That would make things easier, wouldn't it?


	5. Burning Beef

It took the better half of a month, but he was finally showing some signs of recovery. At the very least, he seemed to be able to move his left shoulder again, and sometimes he could swear he caught his fingers twitching out of the corner of his eye, though Chopper denied the possibility by citing medical jargon that made his head spin. But his shoulder could move, and Chopper, with a smile too sweet, said it was something to celebrate. It didn't feel that way. Mostly because every daily examination, every exercise routine, all made him uncomfortably aware just what _didn't_ seem to be improving.

He did feel, sometimes, but it was few and far between. And it was never _real_ sensation; simply tingling pins and needles running from his hands up to his elbows, as though he had sat on them too long. It would last long enough for him to redefine what numbness felt like before increasing into a painful intensity and then simply disappearing as though it had all been a dream. Or rather, a taunting nightmare. At this point, he wasn't even sure if he would recognize what it felt like to have arms again. His hands didn't feel like his own, hadn't for a long time. It was simply...impossible to identify these things with his self. Even if they coincidentally moved to his will, nothing he did with them felt connected to him.

Despite this, he still felt some stirring of obligation to ask about them.

"Well...in cases like these, it may take up to nine months to fully recover," Chopper had said. This piece of information was imparted with a less-than-clinical tone and a lot of hoof-wringing.

"And what, I can't smoke at _all?_" Chopper had winced at that, which Sanji didn't understand for awhile until he felt the stress of his own jaw, gritting so hard that it threatened to pop out of its socket. "What am I, _pregnant?_"

Nothing had come of that at all beyond Chopper giving him the usual dose of pain medication and a glass of water.

"A cigarette'd do better," he had muttered, and Chopper had flinched at that too. He didn't even make a halfhearted attempt at an apology. It was getting harder and harder to feel guilt or sympathy, feeling as cooped up as he was. His head felt weighted, as though someone had put a vice on it that he couldn't get off, and though it wasn't harming him at all, its imagined presence was threat enough. It crushed him until he released the pressure somehow, by kicking out at the walls with braced legs or taking it out on the hands that were his but weren't or snapping at any visitor that came by.

It was probably due to this erratic behavior (on top of the removal of the IV and his stitches that used to limit his movement abilities) that Chopper had asked for a second night guard in the infirmary for the purpose of watching over him in case he...did what, exactly? How was he going to hurt himself or others more than he already had? He made a point to sleep through the night, just to show how fucking useless a guard would be. That, and frankly everybody kept prying, prying, prying, and it was driving him _insane._ Forget him being a danger to himself, _they_ were a danger to him, talking with their own flavors of concern that forced its way into his body like molten lava and melted him from the inside out. They made it hard to breathe, made it hard to face them because he could feel their shaming stares as they rejected his very being and then he'd be forced to fight back, hurt them, feel hurt.

And so he slept instead. Easy.

Maybe it felt like he was atrophying away, that everything inside was pooling down to his back, leaving the rest of his body a dry husk, but it was easy. Easier than the alternative, consciousness, and what it would bring. If he slept for another nine months, that would be fine.

(There was still a small part of him that cringed every time someone came in with a meal, and not because of the quality. That part scolded as best as it could about how much trouble he was making, how much everybody would realize he was a bother, how he shouldn't make everybody work and worry like this. But Chopper's diagnosis of nine months drowned it out left it breathless at the bottom of the sea, because what was he going to do like this? Just sleep for nine months. When you wake up, where was the proof that nine months even happened? You could just pretend that you only closed your eyes for a second and suddenly you're alright again. No trouble at all. And then you could laugh and laugh and blame everything you might've said on someone who wasn't you. Someone who was meaner and fatalistic and did that sound like you? Practical, lovable, lackadaisical you?)

But when he opened his eyes, he hadn't slept for nine months. Judging from what he could see of the sky, judging by the hulking shadow in the corner that was his current guard, judging by the strains of music in the air that he recognized as Brook's five o'clock song (why the _fuck_ someone would have a five o'clock song was a question nobody could answer), he had barely slept for nine hours.

The hulking shadow shifted. "You awake?"

It was Franky, of course. Nobody else on the ship was that big, except maybe Chopper when he was all brawny and human-y. And even then, nobody else had that distinctive shadow, courtesy of his crazy robot arms. Sanji closed his eyes again, trying not to move.

"I can tell you're just pretending to sleep, idiot."

"Then have some fucking courtesy, dumbass," Sanji snapped back. "If I'm pretending to sleep, _maybe_ I don't want to fucking talk?"

"Then get better at pretending, moron. The way you breathe is a _dead_ giveaway."

The cook snorted. "Wow, that's not creepy as shit at _all_."

The shadow moved a terrifyingly large hand to its temples. That much metal shouldn't be so _soundless_, but Franky was as silent as the morning. Even more silent, actually, considering that the morning currently contained an enthusiastic violin serenade. It was, admittedly, a good quality to have in a pirate, but Sanji would still have appreciated an occasional clank, maybe a whir or two, just so that he'd know whenever Franky happened to be behind him (not that he would admit it). "Look. Swirly. Can we just skip the whole 'tough-guy' talk for now? It's _way _too early in the morning for this shit."

"I was _completely_ down for not talking at _all,_ except you had to fucking go and start shit, remember?"

"Oh my _god_ I _just said –_ " Franky broke off suddenly, letting the rest of his sentence out in the form of a sigh. It sounded enough like a mechanical whine to ease Sanji's mind. Not that he was afraid of the big galoot, who could be afraid of a man who regularly went around half-naked? It's just...sometimes his appearance was...unnerving. "Look. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. But I've got some stuff to say, got it?"

Oh great. He was due for another lecture, huh? Even so, Sanji was polite enough to twist himself on his side and face the cyborg. "Yeah? Whaddya want?"

It took a moment for Franky to answer, and by the way his head leaned forwards, Sanji could be fooled into thinking he had nodded off. But there was enough light from the morning sky to see his lips pursed in thought. "I was just thinking, y'know, and you're good with your hands, right?"

Sanji would have barked a harsh laugh if he wasn't too busy spluttering as he pushed himself into a vaguely upright position. "What the _fuck_ are you asking me to _do,_ you perverted piece of shit?!"

That made Franky straighten up in his seat, though he didn't seem to be too perturbed by the outburst. "I didn't even ask you to do _anything_ yet! What the hell!"

"You're _about_ to, I can tell! With a question like that, you're about to ask me to do something weird, aren't you?!"

Franky raised his arms as though seeking support from the heavens above, a gesture that Sanji couldn't help but fear would bring the walls of the infirmary down. "_Just_ answer the question, will ya?"

It was far too simple to answer, of _course_ not, right? Who in their right mind would look at him now and conclude that he was good with his hands for _anything?_ But still Sanji gave the question some consideration. "Not anymore," he said, deciding that was the most accurate thing to say.

"Eeehh?" Franky intoned mildly, and it was with some surprise that Sanji found that he was now sitting on his chair backwards, much closer than he was before. The cyborg was leaning on the back of the chair with his arms and resting his head on top, looking remarkably silly on such a small thing. He should have simply crushed the poor chair with his weight alone, but again, the big hunk of metal simply did the impossible. "Something happen to them or something?"

Now _that_ question was just absurd. It buoyed him with rage, lifting him off his forearm and almost to his feet. "Don't fuck with me, Franky. Don't you _dare_. It's not – it's not fucking funny."

Strange, how he never felt the self-inflicted strain on his lungs except in times when he _didn't_ smoke. He felt it now, the air like knives in his respiratory system, too clean for what he was feeling now – he needed tobacco, he needed that all-obscuring smog that would prevent him from dismantling this pile of scrap piece by fucking piece. Or worse, prevent these hands from tearing at himself, starting with his _disgusting _hair, because even when he got to rinse himself down every few days he could feel the filth accumulating, digging into his skin. He was still sweating, always sweating like he was some prepubescent shithead again, and dirt must be plugging up all his pores because why else would he feel so damn _hot?_

Franky still had that goddamn mild look on his face, so foreign considering his bombastic personality. Didn't even get up from his seat, the bastard, he could at _least_ stand to look a little threatened. Not that Sanji could even get out of bed without help, but he still had a glare and a mean streak a mile wide – maybe even wider, after all this. Stupid bullshit metalhumping steaming pile of fuck could've at least _moved._

"I'm not laughing," he said, and that just pissed him off even more.

"_Then why the fuck would you pretend not to know what the hell's wrong with me?!"_ he roared, and in the distance, the sound of a bow skidding discordantly off a violin greeted the rising sun. "Everybody's talking about me, right?! About how fucked up I am! About how they wish I would just get better so I'd be fucking _tolerable_ again, but I _can't!_ Not for the better part of a _year,_ and even when I can actually _walk around_ and shit, they'll all tip-toe around me or try to talk to me and _fix me_ and I just _can't fucking take it, _okay?!" His throat was getting hoarse again and he leaned back against the wall and felt a hand grasping at his face and it was his own and it felt hollow and he felt hollow but in a different way and he cried for the first time since this whole shitty thing began, mourned the loss of his self-control, mourned the loss of his friends, mourned his friends' loss of a friend, mourned his helplessness for all that he groomed himself to be helpful, mourned for his future and everything that might not happen.

If nobody wanted to deal with...with _this_ for the next nine months, then he completely understood. If they got so exasperated that they would tell him to get off at the next island and (if they were generous) catch up with them later, then he couldn't help but agree. He was even thinking of saying so, just so they knew the option was on the table, but it _hurt._ It hurt because he was crying out with an already-hoarse throat, all his shame being drowned out by snot and tears and a persistent ache in his chest. It hurt because he was _okay_ with it, maybe even _wanted_ it to happen so that it'd be done with already so he could just crawl around in the mire of discontent _alone_. It hurt because he didn't want that at all.

After hours and hours (but more like minutes), he was all cried out, though he certainly seemed willing to continue with the whimpers he occasionally breathed out. But the tears stopped coming and his voice was shot to hell and he wanted his nose to stop feeling like a shitty swamp.

Franky watched him all the while, never moving from his seat, never changing expressions, not even speaking until after Sanji wiped at his face and got his breathing under control. "So what's wrong with your hands?"

"You motherfucker," Sanji said, too tired to make his tone acidic. "I can't believe you're still doing this, you stupid sack of shit."

"Just answer the question," Franky said, sounding just as weary.

"Because of my _nerves,_ jackass. I got shot in the shoulder and shot in the arm so that wrecked my nerves to hell and now I can't feel _shit._"

Franky raised one of his impossibly large hands to rest on his impossibly sharp chin. "Hm, really? That _is_ pretty bad." And Sanji wanted to make a jab about Franky's intelligence and the laughably obvious conclusion he came to, but his eyes were still puffy and he still felt pretty snotty and so he just responded with a resigned snort. "But y'know, I can't feel shit either but I'm still good with my hands," Franky added, showing off the insensitive metal that served as his appendages.

Seeing the visible signs of a physical trauma almost unimaginable in scope, Sanji winced. Of course, Franky was damn proud of his modified body and still crowed like a kid showing off new toys whenever he got to reveal any new features, but Sanji couldn't ever imagine what was there to be proud of being more metal than flesh. Not that he would ever dare insult Franky's choices – his body was his own. It was just that those bulky metal arms brought to mind images of amputation. A loss of the self. Sacrifices that couldn't be repaid. A debilitating consequence that affected the rest of your life.

"...That's different," was the only retort Sanji could think of. And surprisingly, Franky nodded.

"You're right, it is," he said, flicking his sunglasses upwards and revealing an uncharacteristically piercing stare. "Yours'll get better."

Well. There was absolutely nothing he could say to _that._

Not that he didn't try, of course; a rebellious asshole to the end. But even as he worked his mouth, there were no words to fire off, no aggravating response to fight back with. A total and utter defeat.

Despite having delivered the most brutal conversational shut-down that Sanji had ever had the pleasure of experiencing, Franky seemed disinterested. He had only stated a fact; that his own hands had no sensory nerves, and that Sanji's hands, still biological, would regrow theirs. There was no accusation, no sense of emotional manipulation at play. Such a devastating bombshell was treated as nothing more than a mundane segue in their conversation, and the dramatic juxtaposition was enough to make Sanji's head spin.

"Anyways," said Franky, already moving on to drag a table between them, "I was asking 'bout your hands 'cause I could use some thin and nimble fingers, yeah? Cyborg hands are _super_ awesome, but doing maintenance on them alone can be super _annoying._"

It was only when Franky laid his hands down on the table that his plea for mechanical help even registered. Sanji blinked. "And you want me to help you. With no engineering experience at _all._"

"Hey, I can talk you through it, bro!" Even asking for assistance, Franky was cheerfully confident. "It's a pain to even _think_ about doing this one-handed. But it's really simple!"

Sanji looked at the large metal hands on the table but still didn't unslump. They looked the same as always. "Don't you usually ask Usopp to do this shit?"

"Yeah, but the lazy bum's sleeping right now."

"You usually wake up an hour after him."

"_The point is,_ I still gotta watch over you 'til everybody else gets up or something. So why not be productive, right?"

Sanji certainly didn't feel as eager as Franky looked. But the cyborg did have a point, goddammit, and it wasn't like there was any danger of some amateur psychotherapy or some shit that always ended with him getting pissed and saying shitty things.

And it would be nice to do something besides sleep.

Sanji's stomach flip-flopped as Franky popped open his hand, revealing innards that had no right to be seen. Despite how unnatural it felt, he still couldn't help but admire the intricacy of the mechanics within; there were so many interlocking metal parts and tiny springs and little triggers and things he didn't understand the purpose of, but there was a plan to all the chaos. There were so many weapons crammed in such a small space that there didn't seem to be any room for anything to move, but as Franky flexed his fingers, everything shifted in an amazingly calculated way that Sanji was left in awe of the efficiency of it all. Having never been the type of boy that took apart watches to look at the gears, he had no point of comparison; it was like nothing he had ever seen. He could probably spend hours lost in the maze of pistons and pulleys and bullets and compressors and...whatever all this was called. Instead, Sanji wondered whether he should consult with Franky about efficient use of pantry space.

"So. I'm not actually sure...I mean, I'm essentially one-handed too right now, and my hand shakes...all this shit looks kinda delicate and – "

The rest of his intimidated stuttering was knocked out of him by Franky's free hand clapping heavily on his shoulder. "It'll be _fine!_" he declared with a laugh. "If anything happens, I'll handle it, alright?"

Well, who could argue with that kind of confidence?

Sanji bit his lip before acquiescing. "Right. What do I need to do?"

"Y'see, the panel that usually pops out so I can use Weapons Left is stuck or something. Might be a jam, that happens sometimes, bullets get stuck, y'know? Anyways, the way we gotta do this is get everything here outta the way so we can actually get to the back of the hand. Then I can see what the problem is and fix it. And while everything's out, you could clean the stuff we take out so I don't have to worry about things gunking up my system, yeah?"

Sanji leaned over and prodded the mass of metal. "You really can't do this yourself? I mean you had to have _made_ this one-handed, right? It seems kinda weird that you can't _un-make_ this one-handed."

"Look, _who's_ the expert here? There's only so much one hand can do, bro, and I'd be working at an awkward angle too! Anyways, I'm gonna disconnect the motor systems so I don't accidentally move anything while you're poking around in there and cut off a finger or something."

Sanji's hand retreated from the mass of metal.

"Ah, don't _worry_ so much!" Franky let out another boisterous laugh as he whipped out a toolbox from places unknown. "I can actually do most of the grunt-work. I really just need you to get some small things outta the way and clean everything before I put it all back in." The cyborg's one working hand disappeared under the table once more only to come back up with a rag and two bottles of incredibly foul-smelling fluids. Sanji tried to not think too hard about where these objects came from either.

"This one's the degreaser. The other one's the lubricant. First, degrease, then lube. Okay?"

Sanji had never felt more uncomfortable about saying 'yes' in his entire life, so he just nodded. Franky flashed another one of his charismatic grins and tapped at some indiscernible metal bits near his wrist. "Super! Then unhook these doodads from the whachamacallit."

Franky, of course, did not say 'doodads' or 'whachamacallit,' being a professional. But even if he was doing a favor, Sanji wasn't obligated at _all_ to remember all these shitty names of things he didn't care about or even had to worry about on a daily basis. All he had to do, for now, was unhook the doodads from the whachamacallit and that was good enough.

Actually unhooking the doodads was a trial, however, because placing his hand in the intricate innards required immense faith that they wouldn't just be shredded by the mysterious metal thinggummies, faith that he didn't particularly have. It wasn't just fear of getting hurt, but fear of getting hurt and _not knowing _until he saw the blood pooling in Franky's hand and it was too late to do anything.

But Franky had asked for his help. And because of that, Sanji braced himself on Franky's forearm, took ahold of one of the doodads, and _pushed._ The doodad in turn pulled up on one of Franky's corresponding fingers at an extreme angle that would have dislocated a normal person's finger. And in a way, he supposed it _was_ dislocated, as he pulled back and unhooked the doodad (which was like a tendon or something?), relaxing the finger once more. Franky's other hand moved in and unscrewed the other side, thus removing it completely and rendering his pinky utterly useless.

They repeated the process for the rest of the metallic tendons and Sanji set them off to the side, near the bottles. He glanced back at the rest with a butcher's eye and attempted to compartmentalize everything into individual, removable items, but ended up lost instead, only stumbling back out of the maze when Franky slapped his shoulder again.

"Super job, bro! Now I can reach the rest of this stuff! I really owe ya!" he exclaimed, reaching over to pull him into a one-armed hug that threatened to topple the table. Sanji found himself smothered by the smell of cola and an ugly, unwashed shirt. He also found himself more literally smothered in the crook between Franky's overly large shoulder and the only remaining fleshy part of him left.

"Yeah, okay," he choked out as one of his knees knocked against the tabletop, making his eyes tear up like mad. "Let _go_ of me, shithead!"

It took a little longer for the emotional bro-hug to cease – Franky had been in the zone, as it were, and he wasn't one to cut a hug short – but when it finally did, Franky scooped up his pliers and dug at the mishmash of stuff in his hand while Sanji went to work on the scum-ridden parts that got set aside. He supposed that most people would consider cleaning parts to be less exciting, but he enjoyed it a lot more than digging his fingers into the unknown. It was familiar. It was calming. He could see both of his hands, could tell if anything was wrong with them relatively quickly. And he could just stop thinking, focus on eradicating the grime in front of him with all the ferocity of everything he had pent up before. It was almost...fun, in a sense. Doing things. With his hands. Sometimes chatting easily with Franky as they went through their tasks. Sometimes he asked about some part or another, and though he never understood the explanations, the way Franky's eyes lit up and his free arm waved about, drawing diagrams in the air, was just...beautiful.

Not the way women were beautiful, of course, that was _pure_ beauty, loveliness incarnate. But this got close.

Franky was explaining something about a 'Photon Energy Hyper-Focused Ionized Wavelength Cycler' when he asked Sanji to reach in again and unthread the bullets from whatever you put bullets in. The hand was mostly empty now and he did it almost without thinking, and it was nice, not thinking. It was nice to simply let go for the moment, to do things without inhibition and to _know_ that he could do things. With Franky and his eccentric gestures, everything seemed almost normal again.

"You don't have to go through all _this_ just to reload your bullets, do you?" he asked as he plopped the belts of dangerous projectiles right next to half of the hyper death laser machine.

"Nah, usually I feed 'em through my mouth."

"You do _not,_" and he laughed, probably looking a little ridiculous with his face still bearing the signs of an emotional trainwreck. "How the fuck would you even connect your mouth to your arm?"

"Ha! Are _you_ trying to lecture _me_ on the design of my super sleek, super efficient, super rad bod?" It was looking less and less rad the longer that Franky pried and cursed at a panel in his hand, but it was probably best to keep that to himself. "I bet you can't even list _five_ of my awesome features!"

"Yeah, alright alright, you eat bullets, I believe you," Sanji placated with a sly smile as he scoured a particularly stubborn smudge. "Guess that means I don't have to feed you, then. You can feast on scrap metal instead."

The cyborg's smile immediately dropped at that hypothetical horror. "H-hey, bro...I was only joking around, y'know..."

"C'mon, so was I! Was I really that scary, shithead?" With another laugh at Franky's expression of pure relief, Sanji balanced the last gear on a precarious tower of parts. "Right. I'm done," he announced, accompanied by a loud sigh. Across the table, Franky slapped closed something on his arm.

"So'm I!" It was not exactly a surprise to see that the table had already been cleared of any loose parts, all of which were already clinking and puttering away in their places. Franky had always been remarkably fast when it came to building. But it was admittedly unnerving to see the cyborg test out his Weapons Left by popping the gun barrels right at his face.

"Everything's working super!" Franky continued, oblivious to the way Sanji paled and sank a little lower. Or maybe not so oblivious, because he shoved the table aside and immediately pulled him back up in a back-breaking squeeze. For several paralyzing seconds, Sanji's legs wheeled feebly in the air, trying not to be below him when gravity happened – and then he was dumped back on the bed with a bounce and a jolt in his ankle that didn't feel so good. "Great job, bro! Knew you could help me out in a jam!"

"Yeah," Sanji groaned, shifting around in the hopes that things stopped stinging. It took him a while to notice Franky's outstretched hand-in-a-hand, palm facing outward in anticipation, but when he did, he rolled his eyes around like a cyclone. Still, with a quirked smile, he awkwardly completed the high-five, clanking his arm brace against metal, causing Franky to recoil with an enthusiastic 'YOW!'

"Hey, Sanji, we _definitely_ gotta celebrate, right?"

"Celebrate _what?_" Despite his gruff tone, he couldn't hold in his wry smile as he watched Franky dance about.

"Celebrate a hundred percent functionality, of course! It's almost breakfast, and it's been a while – you up for cooking a little something, bro?"

Everything stopped. Even though nothing moved, it felt like everything was closing in on him, from the walls of the infirmary to the walls of his throat.

All he could think about were the stumps known as his arms hanging by his sides. But no, they weren't stumps, they ended with five fingers like anybody else, but they _felt_ like they ended in stumps because they felt like nothing at all, at the most, dead weight, but what was he so scared of?

Franky's smile dropped, though he still tried to keep his voice light. "It's okay if you don't wanna."

"No, no, I'm just – it's been a while since I've even been in the kitchen, I was just surprised – " It wasn't just surprise, though. A roiling nausea. A clamp on his head that threatened to squeeze. An unrelenting exhaustion in his muscles and in his eyes that tugged him towards the bed and told him to never get up. It was simple. It was just cooking. He cooked all the time. What's the problem? What's wrong with him? "I don't think Chopper would approve of me going in the kitchen."

"Aah, sometimes the li'l dude worries too much! It's not like you can't _do_ things – you just helped me out, didn'cha?"

The outrageously dismissive way Franky waved away the concerns of a certified doctor (well, as certified a doctor as a pirate got, anyways) elicited a snort of disbelief from Sanji. "_Sure,_ but I mean, cooking's...it's..."

He couldn't even put it into words, the feeling of a having a peach's pit stuck in his stomach, weighing down heavily like unease. His mind went over a list of preparations, of ingredients and utensils, went over a recipe and multiplied everything by nine, and consider how much time that would take. But it wasn't like he wasn't used to spending hours in the kitchen, so what was he afraid of? Why this reluctance? Shouldn't he be jumping at the bit to actually _do_ something? He was so bored; was he really such a lazy piece of shit? Why so much effort thinking about something that shouldn't take much thought at all?

...Well, if he needed motivation...then there was _something_ in the kitchen that he'd probably _kill_ for now...

"...You'd have to steal a crutch for me," Sanji finally said, pushing out every word in a way that might have sounded solemn but was simply his own struggling will. He gestured to his legs, one of them locked tight in a brace and the other wrapped with a removable cast. "And when Chopper finds out, you'll probably be in for one hell of a lecture." Which was more of an annoyance than a threat, honestly.

Franky smiled once more now that his suggestion was implicitly approved. "Ha! It's alright! I'm feeling super rebellious this week anyways!"

Sanji only nodded and grinned as Franky sauntered over to the corner and babbled about some improvements he could make (like rockets! And flamethrowers!), while trying to quell his own guilt.

"I'm just gonna make something simple," he announced once they snuck through the door and into the kitchen as stealthily as they could when one of them was a hulking metal man and the other was prone to cursing at every stumble. Sanji reached for an apron, realized that his hands were perfectly _useless _for tying things, and left the damn thing hanging around his neck like an oversized, pink bib. "Do you think fried rice'll be okay?"

"You're the cook, bro," Franky replied, leaning on the counter in a manner that did not fit someone who was an accomplice to a grave medical crime punishable by an angry reindeer. Not much of an answer; and wasn't this supposed to be for Franky's sake anyways? But whatever – as long as he could finally gain back a part of himself in the form of smoke.

Franky watched as he hobbled towards a cabinet and struggled to set aside the spices within before drawling, "If you're going for your secret cubby, I already emptied it."

Thankfully, he didn't drop the pepper. That would have been a real _mess. _"You knew about my secret stash?"

"Hey, c'mon, you're talking to the guy who _built_ this ship. You think I wouldn't remember having to build a false panel? Don't worry, I didn't tell anybody else about it," Franky added, noticing Sanji's scrunched brow. "It's for your own health, bro."

Sanji swiveled around as smoothly as he could and leaned his back against the stove. His cheeks, puffed with frustration, let it all out in a thin stream and he found himself wishing he could see it, flowing and curling up into the air and out of his lungs. "Ah, shit. I guess I'm that transparent, huh?"

At this, Franky frowned and slid his lean further across the counter. "You _really_ were looking forward to sneaking a smoke."

"Yeah, well," Sanji said, running a hand down his jaw, fingers twitching into a habitual form around his lips, "it was a shitty idea anyways. I mean, you're _right there._" Even though he admitted this, he still had to scrub the disappointment off his face. "I'll, I'm just gonna start cooking."

Sanji put away the bottles and struggled downwards for the bag of rice, wishing that he had the forethought to put it at a more torso-ish height. Although the kitchen sounded active once more, with his string of curses as he remembered how heavy water could be and how small the steamer was and how long it was going to take to steam _all this fucking rice,_ there was a heavy silence in the air. It was impossible for there to be silence, given how much noise he was making, but it was there anyways, pressing at the back of his head.

Franky was silent, but that wasn't where the silence was coming from. It was also coming from him, even as he grouched about the kitchen on crutches, because his own activity was simply a front to be able to stop the conversation. It was a mutual, uncomfortable silence brought on by a revelation of his own shitty weakness; everybody knew he had a smoking problem, but it had never been a smoking _problem._ And yet here he was, scrabbling for the closest cigarette like some sort of desperate rat, and he was doing it _right in front of another person._

He must've looked like some crazed junkie. A real pathetic idiot. Even moreso now, trying to maneuver around these glorified stilts while transporting a pot of water with more trouble than he ever had as a kid. The only positive note was that it hadn't been Chopper who saw this; god, imagine all the shit he'd get. He wouldn't even be able to use the 'it's not an addiction' excuse. Actually, he might not be able to use it anyways, not without the intense feeling of shame he was trying to shove away in a corner of his mind.

What was Franky thinking right now, as he stared at his back? Probably trying to figure out what to say next, how to say 'you have a problem, bro' in the nicest way possible. Or maybe he was trying to figure out a segue back into a normal conversation, sweep all that uncomfortable shit under the rug. Which would be great, because he sure as hell didn't want to talk about it. Except not, because he also didn't want it to be brushed aside, like it didn't matter or something. Even though he did want that.

Why did everything have to be so damn confusing?

Feelings were total bullshit, Sanji concluded, and he left it at that because at least cooking didn't mess with your head and he was cooking (for a given definition of cooking) and that was completely straightforward with no contradictions whatsoever. And as he set the cover over the steamer, he couldn't help but be relieved because there were _steps_ to follow, there was a process that he knew wouldn't lead him wrong and he would _always_ get fried rice by the end of it. It was a cold, hard fact and a passionate art at the same time; the best of both worlds.

It certainly left him more exhausted than usual, and it had never been so hard on his shitty armpits before. Considering how long steaming the rice would take, he could afford a bit of a break. It was impossible to find a balance between relieving his broken legs and his sore arms, and so he pulled himself up on the counter and sat there, next to Franky.

Who was now holding up a cigarette towards him.

"Wouldja just take it already?" Franky said when Sanji only stared. With such a gruff invitation, his arm couldn't help but snake out and snatch the little tube of tobacco away. But he still had the presence of mind to hold off.

"You're really going to let me smoke?" he asked, his face a battleground between mindful reluctance and overwhelming eagerness. "I mean, after all that shit Chopper said about, about like, the nerves and stuff?" But he was already patting himself down for a lighter that wasn't there, and oh how he wished he could feel that feeling between his fingers, he missed it, he missed the way he could wave his hand about and look like a classy bastard instead of some loon who couldn't keep still.

"Just one," Franky replied lightly as one of his fingers flicked open to reveal a flame. "I mean, since you helped me out with my hand and all, consider this a reward."

"What the fuck, I'm not a dog." But his smile was genuine as he carefully edged the cigarette to the flame without burning himself like a moron. There was a brief hesitation (don't think about where he was keeping it don't think about where he was keeping it) before popping the filter into his mouth and puffing away. Everything inside him melted, and the only thing that kept him from flopping to the floor in a blissful puddle was the steamer full of rice whistling away on the stovetop. "Anyways, ruining the shit outta my regrowing nerves is a damn shitty reward," he added affectionately, admiring the way that the smoke he dearly missed parted from his lips and wafted away.

"It's alright, bro! I'll always have your back!" Franky boasted, clapping a hand against said unfortunate back. Sanji struggled not to swallow his only precious cigarette. "S'long as I'm around, you'll never have to worry 'bout your hands not working, got it?"

"How's that?" Sanji said in a very admirable impression of someone who wasn't coughing like a drowning man.

"I'm just saying, if you ever need it, I'll _always_ be willing to cut off your hands and replace them with super cool robot hands!"

Sanji paused, inhaling a few extra puffs of tobacco in order to calm down. "Right. You're not allowed near my hands ever again."

"What the hell?!" Franky shouted, indigently slamming his hands on the counter and almost jolting Sanji off his perch. "What kinda attitude is that?! I was being reassuring!"

"How the fuck is that _reassuring?!"_ Sanji shot back, but he was laughing and so was Franky, and how could they not laugh when he felt complete again, with the smoke in his lungs and fire in his hands?

But he still had to snuff out the stub in the end. "Gotta start on the other shit," he explained without needing to, and he grabbed the crutch again and carefully wriggled his way back to floor level. And sure, it was still a pain to maneuver around with the glorified stilt as he unlocked the fridge and grabbed all the vegetables and eggs he needed one at a time. But he was energized now, filled with a gaseous calm that was somehow also invigorating. He was in the kitchen, getting ready to crack a dozen eggs in a bowl, and all was right with the world.

Except that he couldn't quite crack the eggs.

After the third tap and nothing but a hairline crack to show for it, Sanji pursed his lips but decided not to try again. He was starting to remember one of the irritating things about having shitty nerves; not really being aware of the force he was applying, due to a combination of no sensory feelings and weak and shaky motor functions. If he overcompensated, then he'd just end up with an egg-y hand and then he'd just get upset. And he was in much too good a mood to let _that_ happen.

He gnawed on his lip in lieu of a cigarette before turning around again. "Hey, Franky, you're good at breaking things, right?"

"Aah? And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a fucking delinquent so get in here and break these eggs, you piece of shit."

"That's funny coming from a violent thug like – wait, what?" Franky's masculine posturing careened into a tree and exploded into tiny, manly bits and he was left gaping at what could only be an impossible illusion.

But Sanji continued to gesture from the kitchen even as Franky continued to blink, stupified, though the cook looked less and less casual the longer he waited.

It was enough to make anybody doubt the very light that reflected off his surroundings and engaged his visual cortex through a process of electrical signals traveling through optic nerves. Not that it was likely that the very physics of nature itself had suddenly collapsed in on itself, but it was, frankly, more likely than _this._ "You want me. In your kitchen. While you're _cooking._"

At this point, Sanji's face had turned into an interestingly subdued shade of red. "S'long as you don't mess things up like some sort of dumb, shit-eating asswipe with a fist up his dick."

Seeing as that was probably anatomically impossible, Franky was golden. But he still entered the kitchen as one would enter a pitch black lion's den littered with actively running chainsaws, and it was an interesting sight to see someone so _big_ try to tiptoe.

Sanji was checking on the rice when he finally maneuvered his way through the door. Franky glanced around, trying to look smaller than he actually was. "So...I need to...?"

"Break the eggs," Sanji replied, gesturing with his arm. "Don't break anything else or I'll kick you halfway across the Grand Line."

Franky inclined his head to give the cook a once-over, but complied and extended his smaller hands to start his job. Still, he couldn't help but mumble, "Not gonna do much kicking for a while."

Although Sanji had moved on to washing vegetables (a job that thankfully did not require much finesse), he always had time to mar his face with over-exaggerated disgust as he aimed a confrontational "Aah?" right at Franky's ear.

"It's true!" Franky defended, irresponsibly waving an egg towards his legs. "You got a _crutch,_ bro, gotta admit _that's_ gonna give you trouble!"

"Ha! I'll _always_ be able to kick your ass around, you measly forty-four million beli _boy._"

"You...! Dammit, don't get too cocky, _brat, _or I'll – "

"Hey, shithead, you're already messing up! You think I'm gonna serve _eggshells,_ dumbass? That a delicacy in whatever ass-backwards land you grew up in?" Despite himself, he was grinning again through the haze of the embarrassment of asking for help. The power of nostalgia, he supposed.

Franky, too, seemed to have thrown away his own awkwardness for the sake of amused irritation. "Alright, alright, _stop!_ You're gonna break your leg _again_ if you keep kicking me, I already took it out! Jeez, a kid like you shouldn't be treating your elders like this..."

"Fucking joke's on you, 'cause I've _always_ treated my elders like this."

"At least lay off the guy who gave you a stupid cancer stick, bro!"

"You mean gave _back_ my stupid cancer stick after _stealing_ it?"

Franky cracked the last egg with a bit of added vehemence. "Bastard. I pity the guy who had to raise _you._"

"He probably does too," Sanji replied blithely as he finished peeling the peas. The green onions would be simple enough to cut (he could have probably gotten away with just tearing off pieces one by one), but the way his hand continued to shake as he handled the knife was making him worried for the carrots. Not to mention the difficulty in chopping something without the help of a second, fully-functional hand. Instead of letting the sight of his diminished chopping speed get to him, he turned away and glanced at the bowl full of eggs (and empty of eggshells). "Whisk it. Any drop you spill, you lick off the counter."

"I'm pretty sure that's unsanitary."

"Then _don't spill any,_" he shot back in a threateningly patronizing tone, a tone he had cultivated to instill the perfect balance of 'holy shit this guy is pissing me off' and 'goddamn I'm scared shitless.' It was somewhat mitigated by the teasing way he leaned into Franky's arm, putting his whole weight into tipping the cyborg over before he was thrown off.

"In that case, _don't make me spill it,_ damn idiot!" Even as Franky shoved Sanji off, he made sure to steady him before he toppled over, his gigantic hand engulfing his shoulder. Sanji only laughed in response.

It was almost a shame that something like this wouldn't happen again for a long while. He had forgotten by now the comfort of a crowded kitchen, hearing ten pans frying at once (which only made the sweltering heat somehow more oppressive) and squeezing shoulders past cursing and noisy men as sweaty as him while conflicting smells of different dishes for different tables assaulted his nose with a physical weight that almost made him fear that it would contaminate the taste of the soup he was in charge of. It was disorienting and all the other cooks there were pieces of shit who complained too much and on top of it all he ended up having to serve all the damn dishes by himself which was only accomplished by _godly_ time management skills and he loved it all.

Everybody had a job there, the one thing they had to focus on cooking, and it was nice to work with the knowledge that someone else was doing their thing just behind you, potentially making the dish that complemented your own. Even when the rush hour was in and everybody was running around and shouting for this and that and the sheer heat boiled in his veins and what the _fuck_ are you doing, this was supposed to be done _five fucking minutes ago _you _incompetent asshole_, when it was all said and done, they were working together for a common goal in an unorthodox home. It was like having a bunch of delinquent dads. A shit-talking camaraderie that he couldn't get elsewhere – except here of course, but it wasn't the same. Here, they all had goals, but it wasn't exactly common. Here, they all could count on each other, but in specialized times; and _never_ in the kitchen. Here, cooking was a lone enterprise – and he took pride in his skill and in the smiles that everybody had for him and him alone at mealtimes, but...

...Maybe someone would be interested in learning how to cook with him...?

"Hey, bro, is this good enough?"

Sanji almost peeled his own thumb when Franky shoved the bowl in his face without warning, the yolky eggs threatening to slosh right overboard. It was a good thing that he managed to keep a firm grip on the knife. Injuries were a thing that he could use less of nowadays. Setting the knife down before any accidents could happen, Sanji swiveled his head towards Franky.

"What do you _mean, _'good enough?' It's just whisking eggs! You whisk the shitty eggs until they're whisked! Simple!"

Franky had actually winced at that, but he still gestured the bowl towards him for investigation. "Yeah, but, like, I'm not the cook bro, _you're_ the cook bro, so I figured I should ask. Y'know, in case this is one of those things you're really anal about."

Sanji sank his face into his hands and realized he would have to wash them again. "How. Can you be _anal_ over – you know what, never mind. It's fine. Just. Just put it down." He waved impatiently towards the bowl of eggs as he leaned over his crutch and checked on the rice once more. "Get the pans down. I'm gonna need two of them. Put some oil in them."

Franky started edging his way towards some cabinets and then abruptly stopped. "Uh, where do you keep the pans?"

Sanji sank his face into his hands again. Right after he washed them, too. Never mind about teaching anybody on this shitty ship to cook, all of them were fucking idiots that he didn't have the patience to beat the basics into (except for Nami-swan and Robin-chwan who obviously shouldn't get their hands dirty over this, no, that wouldn't do at all). Was he even being more efficient at this point? He was starting to think that he would actually get things done faster on his own even with his current disability. "Bottom drawers. Over there. Oil is under here. Just put enough oil to cover the bottom of the pans, not too much." And then maybe he could figure out what to do about the carrots.

There was a little bit of silence before Franky's uncharacteristically timorous voice said, "So...how much is _too_ much...?" Sanji reminded himself that he had just washed his hands for the third time and he should just calm the fuck down because it wasn't Franky's fault that he was completely unfamiliar with this environment and hey, wasn't he actually in a good mood just a little while ago? That was fun, let's go back to that. Please?

Sanji washed his hands again and willfully ignored Franky's squint of concern.

"Alright," he sighed, resigned to becoming the babysitter that he never wanted to be, "just pour and I'll tell you when."

And considering that he had a huge shitload of carrots to dice and he didn't even know how to start on one, it was with some trepidation that he put a knife into Franky's tiny-ass hands and asked him to start peeling. "The peels go in this bowl. I'll use them in something later. Try not to make it too thick, yeah?" he said mostly for the sake of appearances. He was _absolutely_ going to peel too thick.

"_Fuck,_" Franky hissed when Sanji whacked his hand for peeling too thick for the seventh time. Not that he really felt it, but it was the principle of the thing. "This is _impossible!_ How the hell're you supposed to do this?!"

"Stop whining and start learning, shit-for-brains," Sanji shot back as he tried to hide the fact that he didn't have anything to do besides wait for Franky to finish. He continued to chop at the green onions. "And don't knock the blade against your shitty hands so much! Maybe you can't get hurt, but my knives sure as hell can, you think it's easy keeping them sharp?"

Franky threw down the carrots and knife in despair, which earned another thwap. "I can't do this. _Obviously,_ you're playing a trick on me, or the entire cooking profession is insane because _knives aren't made for this shit._"

"Fuck you, we've been peeling with knives just fine. You're just all pissy 'cause I can do something you can't." Shit, the rice was probably done already, and the carrots still were nowhere _near_ finished. He really needed to start frying all this shit and throwing it together.

"No, I am _not_ pissy because you have magic hands, I'm pissy because _this is totally inefficient!_ If you had something like a _log peeler,_ then maybe you wouldn't have to spend _forever_ peeling all this shit!"

Sanji leveled a calm stare towards Franky, setting his knife down again before he accidentally chopped off a finger. "Food isn't wood."

The blank stare instilled enough shame into Franky that he let the rest of his outburst in a sigh and just picked up what he hadn't even finished. Still, he couldn't help but mutter, "I _know_ that, but maybe if there was...like a smaller version..."

"You don't know _shit_ about food, idiot." But even as Franky replied with a despondent agreement, Sanji added, slowly, "But if you ever make some shitty prototype, I guess I could test it out and tell you what the fuck is wrong with it."

Franky brightened up like one of his own firearms and started into a torrential babble of ideas and mechanical lingo. Sanji's ears immediately shut down in defense.

"Look, I don't mean to alarm the shit outta you or anything," the cook said, trying not to shout, "but we really need to get all this shit done before the rice is fucked. I'm gonna start on the eggs; can you do all the carrot shit without me watching?"

Even with Franky's enthusiastic thumbs-up, Sanji's ears decided not to open for now because Franky absolutely seemed like someone who would just talk while he worked. He focused all his aural energy into the sizzle of oil that only intensified as he spilled the eggs into the pan and set to work. The peas and the green onions were thrown in after the eggs were deemed cooked and diced enough, and he quickly started shoveling the rice into the other pan as he shouted for the _carrots_ already, shit, weren't they _done?_ But he wasn't quite finished with his demands when Franky just tossed the little orange cubes into the pan with the rest of the shit because he needed the soy sauce _yesterday,_ idiot, in that shelf, no the _other_ shelf, and so help me if something burns because your engines are obviously running on shitty _snails_ or something, you're eating the whole goddamn nine servings of this shit and you're going to shit it out and _eat it again_.

Franky almost gagged. "How can _you_ of all people make food sound so_unappetizing?_"

"It's a talent, I know," Sanji said in a more subdued tone now that he was lathering the rice with the perfect amount of soy sauce. "Don't relax yet, you're gonna need to mix this rice around while I cook the rest of this shit for a little bit. And _don't_ ask me how you mix rice around, just take the goddamn spatula and fucking _mix,_ alright? And if you burn _any_ of it – "

"Yeah, yeah, don't repeat it! _Shit,_ it was bad enough hearing it once!"

Sanji couldn't help but grin in the middle of his own disgusting threat, but they really did need to hurry. He could already hear the sounds of the ship starting to stir – water rushing through plumbing in places other than the kitchen, light footsteps from the ceiling where someone was checking on the garden, and if he listened closely enough he could hear the damn marimo snoring, meaning he was out in the open air. (Really, why did the shithead even bother getting out of bed at all?) It would be breakfast time soon and he couldn't believe that it took so long to make something this _simple._

But he was almost done. It only took a few minutes for everything in his pan to be fried to his liking, and then it was just a matter of mixing it with the rice a little and scooping even servings into everybody's bowls.

But when he tucked the spatula under his arm and shoved Franky away from the rice so he could dump everything in one place, things didn't exactly go as planned. Again.

The pan was _really fucking heavy._

While he intended to tip the pan over with one hand and trust himself not to spill anything, instead he dropped the spatula to the floor as he instinctively tried to snap his other hand to the handle before the pan met the same fate as the unfortunate spatula. Not that it helped, of course, which just made him feel worse.

He quickly let the pan fall back on the stove with a dull thud and a vehement curse.

"You want some help, bro?" Franky asked quietly, and Sanji ran a hand down his face and wished he still had that cigarette because _shit,_ shouldn't he be able to do this _one simple fucking thing? _This was utter bullshit and the only thing he could do was just lie down and accept that this was also reality. A bullshit reality.

It took a long time to prepare himself to say that one word, 'yes,' and by the time it was about to escape his quivering lips, he was interrupted by way of an angry, furry gorilla.

"SANJI!" It was a roar, an actual, honest-to-god roar, coming from _Chopper._ Sanji felt ice cubes run down his spine. Still, he swiveled around and met the monster head on.

Chopper looked just about as angry as he sounded, which was _very,_ and the only comfort Sanji had was that not all of the anger was directed at him, judging by the way Franky flinched. Without taking his eyes off of the enraged doctor, he discreetly pushed the pan of vegetables to a cold corner of the stove before they could burn.

"Look, I know I'm not supposed to cook, but I'm almost done here," he said, sounding much calmer than he felt. "I'll take whatever punishment you want, but it has to be after – "

"_No,_ you're going to bed _now!_ You, you – I can't just let you do whatever you want in your condition! It's _dangerous!_" And Chopper took one step into the kitchen, but much to the surprise of both doctor and patient, Franky stepped in front of Sanji.

"You can't just keep him stuffed up, bro! It ain't good for the soul!"

Though taken aback, Chopper was ready with a retort, like perhaps they had this argument before. "It's not good for him to be _here_ either! Franky, I know you don't like it, but it's for the best! Otherwise – "

Franky had stormed an advance until the two were nose to nose, almost level in height and wasn't _that_ weird to think about. "Ya gotta consider the stuff that ain't physical! Can't you tell he's not _happy_?! If you keep doing what you're doing, he's going to waste away, like, on the _inside!_"

"And you think the solution is letting him near _knives?!_ If I let him wander freely, what's he gonna do?! Even _you_ said you didn't know! I'm doing this because I don't want – "

"So you lied to me."

Though Sanji was much quieter than the two larger individuals, his words instantly hushed them and Franky turned, his eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses. But his mouth was stretched thin, pale. Chopper, still in Heavy Point, suddenly looked like a child caught in a trap. He looked like he was trying to say something, but there were no words that could erase what had already been said.

"The reason you don't want me to go outside and the reason you don't want me in the kitchen," he continued, eyes starting to narrow, "it wasn't a medical reason."

"I-I, it was, I d-didn't want you to, to get hurt," Chopper stuttered, taking a step back even though his current form was much taller than Sanji. The way he whimpered while looking like some sort of gorilla drove the absurdity of the situation home and Sanji found himself laughing harshly.

"So you _lied_ to me. Well? What else did you lie about so I wouldn't _hurt myself?"_

"I w-was just w-w-worried...I d-didn't, I didn't know what to d-do..."

"Sanji," said Franky, starting to approach him.

"Maybe you lied to me about getting better – "

"_Sanji!"_

Franky stood in front of him, blocking his view of Chopper, but he could still hear the stifled sound of sniffling and hiccups coming from one corner of the kitchen. The cyborg had flicked his sunglasses upwards, showing the full force of his disappointed glare. "You need to leave and cool off. And when you get up again, you owe Chopper – "

Sanji aimed all his bile and frustration and anger at his new target, swaying slightly from the whirling currents battering his mind. "Oh shut the fuck up, don't think I forgot about _your_ lying ass!"

Franky stood still, lips pressed tight once more, as though steeling himself for whatever torrent was coming.

"The whole thing," Sanji continued, waving madly with one hand at nothing in particular, "the thing with your hand and the whole getting me to cook shit, it was another shitty attempt to...to _fix_ me, wasn't it?!"

Franky frowned at the accusation. "What're you – "

"It's all every single one of you piece of shits' been doing! You _all_ think I'm messed up, right?! Like what, I'm suicidal or something, and you're all dancing around the point, trying to talk me down or some stupid shit like that?!"

The air managed to chill a few more degrees, and while Chopper started to quiet down, Franky was still staring at him sternly. "It's not like that."

Sanji laughed like he was spitting in his face. "Yeah? Then what? You just wanted to prove you were smarter than the doc?"

"_Sanji,_" Chopper started to shout, but there was none of that fury from the beginning, only an admonishing plea to just _stop,_ please, you don't know what you're saying.

There was some truth to that.

"It's not like that either," Franky snarled. "It's just – you were – I wanted to make you better – "

"_I can get better on my own,_" Sanji snapped, tottering on his crutch as the ship swayed underneath. Normally, with his sea legs, he wouldn't even have to move to keep his balance. "I'm not some _kid_ all of you need to fuss over, I'm a fucking _adult _who can _handle himself,_ got it?!"

Franky was doubling back towards him once more with all the ferocity that Chopper once had, but Sanji stayed right where he was, puffing his chest with all the pride of the uninjured. "Christ, _get over yourself,_ bro, maybe we're trying to tell you that you're unhealthy in more ways than one!"

"Then you could just _tell_ it to me straight instead of _lying_ to me and making me go through this patronizing bullshit!"

"We _tried,_ you idiot, but you're a _stubborn, thick-headed moron_ who doesn't know help when he sees it!"

"Guys, _please!_" Chopper's whine was almost grounding, but not quite. He was using his bulk to get between the two. "Sanji, you need to rest so you can get better – "

"Why _should_ I get better if you're all just gonna treat me like some kind of _leper?_"

Chopper's eyes were starting to water again now that he was caught between two sides of a confrontation, and so he was in no state to stop Franky from reaching over and grabbing Sanji by the shoulders. "What kinda idiot thing are you saying _now?!"_

"I'm _saying,_" Sanji said, not even resisting, and it was totally because he wanted to let Franky know that he wasn't intimidated and not at all because he couldn't resist at all, "that all of you should just _leave me alone_ so I can heal and then everything can go back to _normal!_"

"_Nothing_ can just go back to normal after that _stunt_ you pulled! Not until you actually admit that what you did was _fucked up_ and that you need _help!_"

Chopper was moving from teary to outright sobs between them and it was getting harder to ignore. "F-Franky...that's...that's enough...let's just..."

There was something about Franky's words that had stung, but rather than look away and admit defeat, Sanji struggled in his grip. Harder than it sounded, with the awkward way his crutches limited his own movement and the fact that Franky was, well, made of goddamn metal. But still, he thrashed, because Franky was smart enough to realize that if this continued, he could break his legs again. "Let go! Let _go_ and _fuck off!_"

With a mighty twist, Sanji finally broke away from Franky and backed further into the kitchen. Or at least tried to, but his foot stepped on something that wasn't sturdy floor – the spatula, _shit_ – and his crutch clattered as he slipped, and he wasn't about to fall, not in front of _them_, and he reached and grabbed for any available surface as best as he could and, thankfully, miraculously, one of his arms caught on something.

He didn't land on his ass, thank _god,_ he only fell halfway down in an awkward position. His left arm somehow landed on something and he managed to lean all his body weight on it to support himself, just so that he wouldn't slip off. His arm didn't have the strength or the motor functions to push himself back up, however, and his crutch was out of reach. With some difficulty, Sanji curled his legs back under him and pushed himself upright. But even with that victory, it wasn't like he could walk out on his own. He really wasn't looking forward to asking for help.

"S-Sanji," Chopper whimpered, and it had a different flavor to it that made the cook look up in worry. Strangely enough, both the doctor and the shipwright seemed to have backed away a few steps with looks of utter shock on their faces.

Sanji sneered in order to cover up his confusion. "What, surprised I can handle myself?"

The vindictive remark didn't quite start up another fight as planned. Instead, Franky looked like he was kicked in the throat while Chopper started outright bawling.

And then there was the smell. Like acrid charcoal, or burning beef...

...His hand was on the still-lit stove. He could see his skin, bubbling, blistering away, and he felt nothing, he could only gape as he burned away, his mind couldn't even seem to understand what was happening, and how long had he simply stood there, staring, just staring?

In the next second, his hand was pulled away by Franky's, and he could see the skin stick to the red hot surface and peel away in flakes, parts of his hand just hanging in strands as he held it aloft and Franky was shouting and Chopper was shouting and both of them might have been crying and he was being led to the other end of the kitchen and there was the sound of running water and the sound of the door being banged open as someone else rushed in and more shouting and his skin was red, like blood and with the bits peeled away, it almost looked like he had been wearing a glove and wouldn't that be nice, because if he could just take the glove off, if only he could just take it off...

"W-wait until the water feels warm, okay? You can't wash his hand in cold water! I, I'll be right back, I need – I gotta – "

The distinct sound of Chopper's clomping hooves told him that the little guy was already rushing away for whatever thing he needed. Someone was cursing at him – sounded like Zoro – and someone was crying – probably Franky – and all he could do was stare at the grotesquely swelling mass of flesh in front of him. Fascinated by how ugly it was. Eventually, a toned hand grabbed it and shoved it under running water, not that he felt anything. Couldn't even tell if it was making it feel better, not if he didn't feel bad in the first place and _wow_ did it look bad as _shit,_ like all the fat was bubbling inside and making it bloat like a balloon.

"Dammit, stupid cook, stop laughing, _this isn't funny_," Zoro hissed in his ear, trying to keep his arm still even as his entire body shuddered with his low chuckling. He hadn't even noticed he started.

Sanji drew his eyes away from the disgusting sight and found Franky standing behind him. With a smile as stable as a hurricane, he said, "Make sure the rice doesn't burn."


	6. Simple Mathematics

There was a crew-wide meeting. He could hear bits of it streaming in through the door that led to the dining room.

He was a gentleman, and so he didn't eavesdrop. At the same time, he was a pirate and they _were_ talking about him behind his back, so what the hell. It wasn't his fault if sometimes they forgot to speak in a hush and sometimes things came to blows.

Sanji picked at his bandaged left hand even though he had been told not to. He should be there, mediating. He should be there to tell them that they were all idiots who couldn't handle living with each other for _one second_ without him, apparently, and so obviously he would just have to get better quick so they didn't somehow kill each other. And then he could remind them that he didn't appreciate all the accusations they were throwing around about him, because he was fine and he had always been fine and he will be fine soon, so just forget it.

But still, the meeting came to some conclusions about things necessary for his own health without his own input, and he slid further into bed because petty rebellion was the only power he had.

"You're healing well," Chopper said with a too-sugary smile when he came in to change his bandages. The burn had only been second-degree, but it was still enough to leave a scar, apparently. His hand would be an ugly, mottled red for a long while. "I think you'll be all better in three weeks."

He might've frowned at that amount of time before, but it was still nothing compared to nine months.

"I'm going to take the casts off your legs now. I believe they're healed enough for you to walk about, but I believe you should use a cane for a little while, okay? And take frequent breaks to rest. Everybody will be keeping a close eye on you so you don't overexert yourself or get into any danger."

Sanji only nodded before settling his gaze behind Chopper. "So what's that bawling idiot here for?"

"I-I'm not crying," Franky blubbered, his face a complete mess. Chopper's cotton candy smile wilted slightly.

"Well, he...just wanted to talk. After we're done. Do you have any questions?"

Sanji shrugged and stared at the floor between his feet. It was the perfect place for an ashtray, he noted with some interest; he could lie in bed with a smoke and all he had to do was let his hand list towards the floor every once in a while. Just smoke the day away.

Chopper's smile dropped, but it fluttered back on as he said with enforced cheer, "Then I'll leave you two alone to talk." The clomp of his hooves were rather hurried for his easy-going tone, but he sure was trying his best. As soon as the door closed, Franky pulled up the chair and it was almost like that one early morning, them sitting in front of each other and just talking over an open arm and scattered parts. Except there was no table to separate them this time around, and the added proximity was awkward in how unwanted it was. Sanji kept staring at the floor while Franky composed himself as best as he could.

"I wanted to apologize," the older man explained through errant sniffles. "I'm just...so, _so_ sorry; your hand, if I hadn't – "

"It's fine, I got it," Sanji snapped. "If that's it, you can go."

Franky looked like he was about to shout a retort, but he managed to clamp his mouth shut and sigh through his nose instead. "I got more to say," he replied testily. "About what happened."

Sanji hoped his shoulders didn't jolt as much as it felt they did and he raised his eyes all the way to Franky's chin so that at least he didn't look like some guilty schoolkid getting lectured by his dad or something. "Yeah?"

To his schadenfreude-esque delight, Franky twisted under his half-assed glare, ducking his head down, rubbing the back of his neck, the works. "Look, I just want to know, 'cause I wanna be sure I wasn't imagining it or anything; you _were_ having fun, right?"

Out of all the things that he could have said, this was – well, it wasn't the _last_ thing he expected, because that implied that he had still expected it somewhat. It wasn't even on the list of the things he had expected, and it took all his energy to keep his face as passive as he could.

"Be-because that's all I wanted to do," Franky blurted out after being tortured by the unanswering silence. "Just make sure you were, like, _happy;_ I wasn't trying to trick you or manipulate you or whatever the hell you thought I was doing. But, like, Chopper was worried about, I dunno, what you'd _do_ if he let you walk around, or like, you'd hurt your hands without knowing I guess, and hell, he _still_ is real testy about letting you out (and don't tell him I told you), but you just don't lock a bro _up_ like that, man! You know?"

Somehow, this didn't seem to be a hypothetical question, by the way Franky looked to him beseechingly, and so Sanji granted him a slight nod. The cyborg nodded much more grandly in return, bolstered by the lackluster encouragement. "Yeah. Yeah. You just _don't._ It does real bad shit to your mind, doesn't it? Not getting to do anything with anybody or something."

Well, he wasn't wrong. But Sanji's mouth twisted into a tired smirk. "Even if I go out now, it won't help anything. Not everybody can pretend they're not scared of me."

"It's, it's not," Franky managed before he had to rub his face with another loud sigh. "We're not afraid of _you,_ we're just afraid of what you're _doing_ to yourself, bro. 'Cause we're your _friends._"

Sanji looked down at the floor again. "Shit. You're so _embarrassing,_" he said, with none of the light-hearted airs necessary to make that remark even remotely convincing.

"Yeah, well...I'm gonna say something real direct to you, 'cause I know you don't like us dancing around this whole martyr issue you got going on."

"I _don't have_ – "

"Yeah, yeah, alright. But you got stuff on your chest, right? Stuff you always keep to yourself?"

The way that Sanji fell silent was answer enough, and Franky adjusted his sunglasses so he could stare straight into Sanji's eyes. The cyborg's eyes were a little puffy around the edges, bloodshot and red, but the way his brow furrowed made them look intense rather than simply sickly, and Sanji found himself automatically paying attention to his next words.

"We ain't gonna force you to talk, but I'm telling ya, you need to talk to someone about your shit. Nobody's gonna give you a lecture, even. Just..._talk,_ okay?" Franky's brow furrowed in a different direction, upwards, letting his eyes sag into bags. "We're worried. We wanna know what's up with you."

Sanji stared for only a few seconds longer before averting his gaze and settling on the infirmary desk instead. "I don't want to bother anybody with my shit," he muttered, surprised at his own answer.

"I promise you, it'll _never_ be a bother."

He was silent for another moment. His ribs felt like they were broken all over again, and they were pressing into his lungs in such a way that they might pierce them if he so much as breathed.

"I...I really don't want to talk. With anyone."

He didn't see the look on Franky's face when the cyborg pushed himself on his feet and left silently. Probably disappointed. But he didn't say anything, and that was a courtesy that Sanji probably didn't deserve at this point.

It took a little longer for Sanji to muster up the energy to get up and hobble outside. Before he even stepped out, he had to wince and cover his eyes from the glare of the sun. The way his arm turned red as it cast its shade over his face almost made him believe that his skin had turned translucent from the amount of time spent in the relative gloom. Maybe he should have thought to put on sunscreen. After all, compared to the others, he was someone who easily burned, haha.

His left hand twinged.

Once the world stopped being so goddamn bright, Sanji looked over the deck of the Thousand Sunny and found it to be an average day, more or less. The stupid mosshead was sleeping in an inconvenient place, as usual, and the idiot trio were entertaining themselves in a manner that was probably _designed_ to be as annoying as possible, and Robin was absolutely _stunning_ in her own special mature and classy way, which was absolutely _not_ a surprise.

But there were still cracks in the performance of an average day. When he located Nami with unerring precision and approached her with an offer for a late afternoon snack, she said a simple, hard, "No" and retreated to her grove without even sparing a smile. Whenever Luffy happened to lock eyes with him in the middle of playfully trying to stick some sort of worm he found into Chopper's ear, his natural cheer melted into an unnatural stare that was chilling in how emotionless (yet accusatory) it was. Usopp's voice clogged in his throat as soon as he appeared, and then made up for it by running like a waterfall about the most inane things, desperate to engage in a conversation in order to prove that everything was alright. And it was impossible to ignore the way Chopper stared at him harder when he leaned over the railing and stared out at the sea.

The sea...

It had been so long, he almost forgot how calming the sea was. A bit ridiculous, since he had never even left it, but the rocking of the boat was not enough of a reminder – he had long since attained his sea legs, and such subtle motions that might have sent a lesser man stumbling couldn't even make him flinch. The sea _really_ lived through the sight of its expanse and the smell of salt and the feel of the breeze and the sound of its lazy roll, over and over and over. The wind tossed his hair and he set his cane aside and let his arms hang over the railing, as though relinquishing them back to the sea. But, he thought as he took in a deep breath and tasted the salt penetrating his pores, it certainly didn't make sense for the sea to take anything that wouldn't feel its beauty. And even though his entire being still thrummed in enthrallment at the sight of deep blue waves, his hands were a dead zone, completely apathetic to their surroundings.

They could have been gone already and he wouldn't know.

"So you're all better?"

Sanji probably would have jumped straight overboard if he had been in a healthier state. As it was, he yelped and scuttled away from his too-close captain, almost falling over before realizing just who it was that talked straight into his ear. When his brain parsed the question, he stared down at his cane before staring back at Luffy's openly curious face with an incredulous glare.

"What do you _think,"_ he said, forgetting for a moment just who he was talking to.

Luffy's face immediately split into his usual carefree grin. "That's great! That means you're cooking again, right? Right?"

The juxtaposition between the last time he talked with Luffy and now sent Sanji's incredulous glare whirling into something more incredulous and less glare. He felt like he was almost falling over again. "I – uh?"

"'Cause the fried rice you made was good, but it's been _sooooo_ long since you cooked meat," Luffy continued, sitting on the railing and clapping his feet together. "And every time I ask for meat everybody just gives me jerky and jerky is _laaaaame._" To illustrate how lame jerky was, Luffy slumped backwards and groaned the word to the sky. Sanji instinctively jumped towards him to pull him back on board, but he snapped upwards like an excited rubber band. "I want warm, juicy meat! Off the bone! Sanji's meat! Make me meat!"

It was surprising how much Luffy could go on as though he hadn't held him against the wall the last time he saw him. But then again, it was Luffy. The whole time Sanji knew him, he never seemed like someone to hold on to many things. One of the benefits of being rubber, perhaps.

Before Sanji could even begin to formulate any coherent answer, Chopper jumped in to answer for him. "He's _not_ all better! You idiot, don't just go running up telling him to do whatever you want! He already burned himself, he can't – "

Chopper's sudden cut-off held the silence for far too long, leaving Sanji to tense and Luffy to tilt his head. After a moment, the doctor took in a shaky breath. "You gotta ask him _what_ he can do. Okay?" And then those big ol' eyes were looking up towards him, quivering with the effort of meeting his face full-on. "Um...so how do you feel? Do you want to make dinner?"

He couldn't even raise one arm and he had already burned a hand. Almost every single food-related task was now either difficult or simply impossible. And yet, there was no question about it. He wanted to cook. He wanted to be able to _contribute_ again, do something that might make him feel like a _person_ again. There was a persistent ache in his mind that told him to simply go back to bed and lie down, but there was a stronger ache in his heart as he looked at the sea and at his hands, as though he was deliberating on whether to give up cooking _forever_ rather than simply deliberating on whether to cook tonight.

"Yeah," he rasped. "But I can't make meat."

Luffy flopped back onto the deck, whining piteously but saying nothing else. Chopper hesitated before nodding, and dogged Sanji's steps when he started hobbling back towards the kitchen.

The first hour was mostly spent trying to figure out something to cook that didn't require any cutting or heavy lifting or excessive mixing. He didn't have many options left after that. With a heavy feeling of malaise, he decided that dinner would only consist of noodle soup.

The next hour was spent washing vegetables, waiting for the pot to boil, and trying to ignore the way Chopper watched him from across the counter, eyes growing harder whenever he shuffled close to the knife rack or struggled with peeling the bok choy apart with one hand.

"Um. Sanji?" Chopper quavered from his seat, and though Sanji didn't turn to face him, he could hear the fidgeting in his voice. "I wanna...I'm just..."

"It's fine," he said a little too quickly.

"No, it's not," Chopper replied. Sanji focused on measuring out the noodles. "I...messed up. I'm sorry. I-I just...I didn't trust you...and I couldn't figure out...I didn't ask for help, I just pretended that I knew the best thing for you and kept you..._isolated_ and _alone_ because I was so afraid...I sh-should've known better...I k-knew, that the things I did...as a doctor, they were wrong. I just couldn't – you're my friend, so, I just – I'm _so_ sorry..."

The soup was boiling. The noodles were already softening, going limp in the water as he stirred. He added salt with little difficulty. The hard part was adding sesame oil. He struggled to raise the bottle high enough to actually pour out the amount he needed. His wrist refused to twist and so he had to twist his body instead. He hoped that he wasn't shaking too much.

"It's fine," he repeated, enforcing the end of the conversation. Chopper fell silent, but still watched him cook with guilt oozing out of his fur and pooling at Sanji's feet, sticking to him, reminding him that this must be what _everybody_ thought of him now; suicidal; infantile; unhinged.

The dinner table was the sparsest that he had ever seen, a pot in the middle and one bowl in front of everybody's seat, and even this setting left him exhausted by the end. But the way that everybody went on, it was like he gave them a full three course meal. "Delicious!" and "Woah, this is SUPER!" and "You did a really great job!" The only exceptions were Nami, who ate in silence, and Luffy, who complained about the lack of meat. (Luffy then got beaten up much more than a captain really should by his more tactful subordinates.)

It was obvious what they were doing, and it was kinda touching, he supposed. But he couldn't quite make the effort to be touched. Not when everybody else were so blatantly handling him with oven mitts, like, the shitty metaphorical kind that only served to isolate him despite all intentions otherwise.

Sanji's schedule became a cycle of cooking and resting and testing the mobility of his arms. And the ship was all the quieter without his squabbles with Zoro, and he couldn't help but wonder whether they weren't fighting because he was simply too tired for that shit or because even Zoro couldn't stomach looking at him in his pathetic condition. Even when the Thousand Sunny landed at a pirate-friendly dock, his routine stayed the same beyond giving Usopp a list of groceries and lecturing him about looking for the _really_ ripe shit and you're supposed to squeeze the wintermelon near the rind, see, and pinch the chives at the bottom to make sure they're easy to cut, and for the love of god if you don't fucking buy the shitty mushrooms again I'll kick you so hard that you taste your own balls.

Though he seemed distracted, Usopp was able to repeat his instructions back, including the bit about tasting his own balls. He had trouble looking straight at Sanji's face, though, and before he left, the sniper squeezed his left forearm and said, "Take care of yourself," before heading out. After a little bit of thought, Sanji limped his way over to the gangplank and shouted after him, "If you got some grocery money left over or whatever, you can use it to buy the stupid shit you want!" But he only received an uncertain smile in return.

After that, he stayed in the kitchen, because wandering around the deck of a pirate ship while using a cane was just _hollering_ for trouble, and anyways, he should start lunch for whoever happened to wander back.

Not even five minutes later, Robin graced his dining room.

If it were anybody else, he might've told them that they were supposed to keep _watch_ and that meant _outside,_ dummy, but it was Robin, responsible Robin who probably already had eyes everywhere and could multitask like _hell. _She could have been a pretty good cook herself, an especially speedy one with her powers. Multiple arms to handle all the pots and pans? Multiple eyes to check on the status of all the dishes? _Hell fucking yes. _It rivaled All Blue as the ultimate cook's dream. The only problem was that there would never be a kitchen big enough to fully utilize that power. Not to mention that little bugaboo with the sea hating the air out of you.

Without thinking, Sanji was already forcing a tired smile on his face. "Robin-chwan~! Would you like me to make you some coffee?"

Robin gave one of her absolutely stunning smiles and said, "If you don't mind, I would like to make it myself."

Sanji's silly grin faltered for a moment. "But of course I don't mind! Come in, come in, I'll tell you where everything is!"

Even after gathering all the ingredients for her, Sanji still hovered over her shoulder, twitching his hands and making a discordant whining sound whenever she started doing something that was less than her ideal coffee. It was only when Robin started to chuckle that Sanji remembered he was supposed to be _cooking_ and he stepped back to the stove and didn't look up again until he heard the trickle of the devil's drink being poured into a cup. He turned his head slightly as Robin slid behind her proper place behind the counter. "Is it good?"

"Not as good as yours," Robin admitted, the cup raised to her mouth.

"I can make you – "

"No, no, it's fine. You are busy, after all." She nodded towards the hissing pans and the bubbling pots. Sanji turned back to the stove with a furious blush that could have lit one of his cigarettes.

He continued in silence, feeling Robin's piercingly scrutinizing gaze on his back. It wasn't like having people watch him cook was anything new, of course, Luffy did it all the fucking time, watching out for an opening. (Even if there wasn't any meat, Luffy wasn't one to waste any opportunity for early samples.) But Robin just had a way of making everything feel like an exam. If Nami were watching, he'd feel free to embellish, do a bit of extremely unnecessary flourishes to make the show more interesting. With Robin, he only felt comfortable being simply an average, no-nonsense cook. Anything more would be just...grotesquely flashy and immature.

So when he heard a contemplative hum from behind, he froze and couldn't help but search the various dishes he was juggling for the mistake he so obviously made.

"I must say, I am surprised."

"Eh?" Surprised at what? His decision to season with garlic? Or maybe his choice in the type of soy sauce or –

"You're much more comfortable in the kitchen than I would expect."

Sanji almost flipped the fish steak straight onto the ceiling. "Um. What?"

"Your hand," Robin said, tipping her mug towards the bandaged hand gripping the pan's handle. "You were injured very recently by that very stove, but you don't seem to be, as the idiom goes, 'twice shy.' If you understand?"

Sanji glanced at the neat, white strips of gauze that belied the mess of red, scarred skin underneath, then looked at the flames licking the bottom of the wok. "I've been burned before."

"But surely not to such an extent."

"Well, a cook can't be afraid of fire," he replied with an exaggerated shrug. "Even if I burned myself on this stove, I can't help but still find fire beautiful, y'know?"

"How interesting," Robin said, and he admired the way she made it sound nothing at all like 'how idiotic.'

"Not like in a creepy way," he added, going back to stirring the soup so it didn't skim over. "It's just nice the way it's warm and, y'know, it dances and stuff I guess. And like, it helps life. Can't eat shit without fire."

"But it's also very dangerous."

"So's the sea," said Sanji, his eyes filming over with ice for a second. "You can't drink it, even if it's water. You can drown in it. It's so unfathomably big that the weight of it can crush you if you're too deep. If you aren't careful, it can suck you off the land, carry you away, steal your body for the sea kings to eat." The soup continued to boil peaceably, like a gentle underwater volcano. He lowered the heat so that the frying fish steak merely sizzled. All the sounds of the kitchen ebbed away. "But I still love it."

Robin's eyes glinted behind the steam. This was exactly the kind of morbid conversation she liked, perhaps. "You love dangerous things?"

Shit, this was getting into some deep, inner philosophical fuckery or some shit like that. If only he had at least a cigarette to chew on. The butt that Franky had handed over was still resting on the countertop ashtray, but he wasn't that desperate – or, he _was_, but he still hadn't found where Chopper hid his lighter. He jutted his chin out in contemplation. "It's not that I love 'em be_cause_ they're dangerous...I love 'em despite it. Y'know? Even if they hurt me, I can't hate beauty. So that's why I don't hate fire and I don't hate the sea."

He nodded, satisfied with his own answer, and Robin seemed to be of the same opinion with the way her smile widened enough to send a different sort of glint to her eyes. "That certainly makes sense, considering you."

"How so?" he said more out of courtesy than anything.

"Well...you remember Roulette, don't you?"

Sanji paused in the middle of setting the fish steak onto a plate, his lips pressed tight. It took him a few seconds to realize that he should put the pan down before he tired his arms out holding it up like some idiot, but he couldn't let go of the handle once he did, only grip it tighter. He couldn't even raise his head to meet Robin's all-knowing stare. "Yeah. Sure I do."

"My...that's a sad expression."

"Yeah, well..." With a bolstering breath, Sanji flipped the fish steak onto the waiting plate and tossed the pan into the sink. "How do you think she's doing?"

Robin leaned forward, setting her chin on an upraised hand. Her long hair slipped past her shoulders and threatened to dip themselves in her unfinished coffee, but somehow managed to stop short, like she really _was_ in complete control of her body as she seemed. "Considering that our captain almost turned the entire Marine base upside-down on her head, she must be doing as well as you are."

"Hm." Sanji couldn't stop himself from frowning at the soup as he stirred it automatically.

"Worried?"

"Well, she's a bounty hunter. Her livelihood depends on having a body in fit fighting form. So without that..." How well did the bounty hunter life pay? Zoro had practically been a bum, from what he could tell, so maybe not well enough. Could she pay her medical bills? What about food? Would she even be able to heal well enough to fight again? She certainly had a lot of weapons to back her up, but weapons could only take you so far with a body that couldn't fight. Maybe she had to get another job. Maybe she was currently scrounging for whatever money she could, paying back a debt that kept piling up because her major source of income had been cut off in her prime, and the world could be cruel to someone in need...

"You really do pity her." Sanji found himself straining his ears to listen for a laugh in Robin's words. "Despite how brutal she was. Simply because you can't hate beauty..."

"I don't want to talk about this," Sanji said, reining in his mouth so it wasn't a snap. The word 'simply' made the hearty smell of the soup go stale, and his eyes burned in the dispersing steam. He tried to not think of it as a betrayal, Robin had only made a slip of the tongue. She wasn't thinking. Didn't mean anything with her wording. He was just overthinking it. "Sorry."

"No, I must apologize," and for the first time in this conversation, Robin's voice dropped its friendly lightness. When Sanji glanced up, she had straightened both her back and her mouth, her eyes lowered with contrite shame. "I should have considered how comfortable you were in conversing about this topic. I'm deeply sorry."

Sanji's brow furrowed even as his eyes widened, creating an uncomfortable tension in the borders of his face. "No, no, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm...I'm fine, alright?"

Robin smiled again as she slid off her seat, but it didn't match her eyes. "You are too kind." And with that, she walked out the door.

He almost called out to her, told her to come back, but the tingling feeling was starting down his arms like a wildfire and his hands shook as they struggled to open the bottle of pain meds, and _fuck_ he dropped it like some kind of moron. He quickly shoved the pot of soup off the flames because he didn't trust himself to pick it up and then crawled all over the floor for the damn things, which was _really_ hell on his knees, but he was too late. His arms turned into swollen sponges filled with lead and fire. It was a miracle that they were able to even do anything, but somehow through his stinging tears he realized that the thing behind held in front of him was one of those chalky white pills.

It took him two tries to get it in his mouth and then he just rolled on his back and hoped that nobody came in. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw arms sprouting in his kitchen, taking the dishes and setting up the table for lunch.

He tried to say thanks but could only heave a sigh as twitchy as his fingers and he decided that it would be a good idea to eat lunch early and sleep until dinner.

Over the next couple days they were moored, Sanji stopped using the cane. It was pretty damn useless in the first place since his hands would spontaneously turn into godawful meat nuggets that couldn't hold anything worth shit and then he'd curse up a storm before leaning down on his knees for a breather, trying desperately to ignore the well-meaning fussing of some nearby crew member. Chopper had said that at least the shitty nerve fuck-up thing didn't happen to his legs, but there wasn't much of a difference if he had to sit down every once in a while or risk collapsing.

But now, his legs were deemed Healthy Enough Considering You Regularly Set Them On Fire and he was free to walk around without a stupid hobble and the first thing he did with his new-found freedom was kick Usopp in the face for not buying mushrooms.

"That was _two days ago,_" Usopp spluttered behind a remarkably unbroken nose.

"Yeah, two days of extreme resentment," Sanji drawled, tapping the toe of his shoes on the deck. It was great how that little tic didn't make his leg explode into pain.

Usopp pointed an accusing finger even as he scrabbled behind Zoro for protection. "You said you forgave me after I showed you the really interesting fruit I bought!"

"No, I _said_ that it might be cool to _experiment _with, if I actually had the _time_ to experiment, which I _don't_, because – "

Sanji cut off. He had almost admitted something dangerously open, and judging by the expressions everybody else had, they had a suspicion of what it would have been. Usopp's accusing finger turned downwards along with his face, not quite hiding the guilt that was spreading. The sounds of other activity had simply stopped, like everybody was holding their breath, waiting for him to say it.

"...because none of you bother to get off your lazy asses and help clean the damn dishes," he finished lamely, and absolutely nobody felt mean enough to point out that the dishes had been cleaned by everybody _but_ him since the whole thing started.

Usopp even began to agree, falling neatly into this new shitty play Sanji was putting on, when Zoro finally got impatient and shoved the sharpshooter off his back. "Just get someone to help cook, already."

It took a moment before Sanji could apply his forced, suave calm once more and respond, "_Ha._ Not likely." He hoped his hands weren't twitching as much as he thought they might. "As if I'd risk my kitchen like _that._"

"It already survived without you hovering around like a stupid bug, cook."

"I _did_ kinda cook a lot when you were bedridden," Usopp pointed out from the floor.

"Yeah, and I got to _taste_ your shitty cooking when I was bedridden," Sanji sneered back. "You think I'd let the lovely ladies of this ship eat your slop again now that I'm around?"

"Wasn't that bad," Zoro said, and both Usopp and Sanji had to take a mental breather because _Zoro complimented Usopp._

Sanji recovered first. "That's because you're a brute with no fucking _taste._"

"Yeah, and Luffy'll eat anything." And then Sanji was sure that his heart just stopped because _Zoro agreed with him._

That took him out of commission for an immeasurable amount of time, and so he had no idea what day it was when Zoro continued, "and Chopper just eats that leafy shit mostly and Franky feeds on that stupid fizzy drink or whatever, so just let Usopp cook for the guys and you cook for the girls."

Sanji almost wished he had the damn cane again because _Zoro was trying to be__fucking helpful what the shit is happening._ He blanked out once more and when he found himself back at reality, Usopp was finally on his feet again like a respectable human being and gesturing excitedly in the way that he did when he was proudly brainstorming shit. "...and I know where everything is already, so you don't have to teach me, and you don't have to tell me the code for the fridge, you can just open it up for me and maybe tell me what to cook with so I don't use up too much rations or anything, and you'd only have to worry about a few people so you'd have more time to do whatever, like experiment or something, and – "

Facing what was surely the end of the world, Sanji could only think to say, with unintentional horror, "I'm not eating your cooking again."

"Well duh," Zoro said before he could backtrack and apologize to Usopp's increasingly hurt face. "You're sure as hell not a man."

Okay, _that_ he understood. It was too bad that Zoro dodged his kick with a downright _insulting_ lack of effort and then protected his own green ass by reminding him about dinner.

Sanji muttered dangerously the whole walk to the kitchen about snubbing lit matches all over the stupid marimo's arms while he was asleep because it wasn't like that would even wake the asshole up and hey, maybe he could make some nice patterns with the burns like an ejaculating dick because that would be the _perfect_ tattoo for a meathead like him. And so it was that Usopp took an extremely long time to inform him that he was in the kitchen too, ready to do his part.

Sanji stared at him for a few seconds, as though he had suddenly teleported in. "No. It's fine. I can do this."

"Hey, I _know_ what I'm doing," Usopp said with one of those tense grins he had been shouldering these past few weeks. "Not as much as _you_, of course, but you can trust me, alright? You really need to rest more anyways."

And it was a good idea (not that he would ever say it out loud), and objectively speaking, he really could use the help, but it still wrenched a hole in his gut and made his brain writhe in retaliation, making him feel a sense of strange discontent that he could only express by saying, "But I'm the _cook_," like a petulant child. He could see Usopp trying not to look at him like he was an idiot.

He tried again. "Look, I just...I'm the one who thinks about what everybody should eat, so...it's like...I _need_ to feed _everybody,_ and it just feels shitty to, I dunno, do this _preferential treatment_ thing."

Now Usopp was _definitely_ looking at him like an idiot. "You do that all the time."

Sanji leaned back on the fridge in an overly-dramatic way and shoved his shitty hands into his face. That was probably the worst wording he could have picked. "At _least_ let me cook for half."

"There are nine of us."

"Four."

Usopp pursed his lips. "Fine. Who's the last one?"

"You."

There was only a few seconds of silence before Usopp turned around, rested one hand on the counter, covered his mouth, and started to noticeably shake with the effort of controlling his uncontrollable laughter. It came out in squeaks and spurts before he finally gave up and shrieked like a strangely joyous banshee.

"_What,_" Sanji tried to say as harshly as he could. His face was burning, and he actually wished it was actual fire rather than the obvious blush that it was.

Usopp couldn't even turn around and look back at him without exploding and slamming the counter with his fist. It actually sounded like he wasn't getting enough oxygen, the way he was huffing in between giggles, but he sounded content enough when he finally blurted, "Oh my _god_ you are _such a dork._"

If he had a cigarette in his mouth, it would have burned up right away. "I'm just trying to be _nice!_"

"B-but, but did you have to sound like, like, some idiot f-from a cheesy harlequin romance?" Usopp gasped, now falling to his knees and clutching his stomach in euphoric pain and oh _come on_ it wasn't _that_ funny!

"_I'm doing you a fucking favor because you're helping me out and you're being an incredibly shitty asshole about it._"

Still, when Usopp finally got off the fucking floor and controlled himself long enough to actually start working, Sanji had to admit that he did have some semblance of a clue of what he was doing. "Lived home alone," the curly-haired shithead said, the corners of his mouth still twitching (goddamn dickshit). He dealt with the meat that Sanji had left out to defrost adequately enough, albeit crudely. And he didn't ask questions like a certain stumbling cyborg, at least nothing beyond whether he was allowed to use this or that. Didn't seem to know how to season beyond using pepper and salt, but that wasn't exactly a crime. Even if he did wanted to beat him over the head with a bottle of paprika every once in a while. And even though the kitchen wasn't built for two people, Usopp had an almost innate ability to stay out of the way. Maybe it was a sniper thing.

And even though Sanji was cooking for one less person and Usopp was cooking for fucking _Luffy, _Sanji was still slow enough with his shitty hands and his shitty new tendency to drop things randomly that Usopp finished first. Only barely though. But _fuck,_ he really _did_ need help.

Usopp glanced up at him and he said, "Great. Now set the goddamn table." And then he plopped into a chair and promptly fell asleep, only stirring once to pop some pain meds when the whole shitty being-stuck-full-of-needles feeling started up again.

This is how it came to be that Sanji had a lot more time to kill, and only _some_ of it was spent lying around and being fucking exhausted. True, it was a hassle to try to get Usopp waking up at, according to him, 'the unholy asscrack of dawn who even makes breakfast this early,' but at least he wasn't sleeping all the time. Any longer, and he might start growing mold and _that_ would be a disaster.

But after a flurry of mystery-fruit tarts and smoothies and pies and Usopp trying to get him to stop because "this was supposed to give you _less_ work" and "we don't need these many desserts oh my god stop making them everybody's gonna get sick and then you'll have to feed them to Luffy," there didn't seem to be anything else for him to do. Even with his legs in working order, he was always told to stay behind when trouble came around, go inside whenever a storm happened upon them. And in times of relative calm, all he could think about doing was leaning over the railing and staring out at sea. Nami still refused any extra treats. Zoro still kept out of his way and didn't respond to any insults. And whatever stupid game Luffy played, it never really involved him. Robin didn't even let him make coffee, and _that_ was mostly done by machine!

He felt a bit like a loser for admitting this, but making food was pretty much his entire life and he didn't really know how to do much else. And none of his other hobbies were available. Couldn't even fucking _smoke_ to pass the time.

He was going to die of chronic boredom.

"Sanji," Chopper said with very medical concern. "Why are you rolling around in the grass?"

"I'm training myself to be a worm," he replied, still rolling around methodically across the deck.

Chopper's brow furrowed. "Worms don't roll."

"Well, I guess even worms have more shit to do than me," he announced to the sky before bumping into the side of the boat. At this point, he caught the attention of Luffy, who trotted over in order to watch Sanji pause thoughtfully, his nose against wood grain, before starting back towards where he came from.

The captain and the doctor kept pace with him. "Sanji, won't you make yourself sick?"

"I'm already sick."

"If you got nothing to do," Luffy said with a solemn look on his face, "then just do something."

Sanji paused in his pointless rolling to give his captain a slow clap, but the effect was ruined by how his hands kept missing each other, so instead he said, "It doesn't work like that, asshole."

"Jesus _Christ,_" Zoro grumbled from his spot against the mast. "Wouldja _stop whining_ like some pissbaby already?"

"What was that?!" Sanji leapt to his feet at the promise of a petty fight, but that turned out to be a horrible idea. The sudden change in altitude left his head spinning and he stumbled and probably would have fallen if it weren't for some helping hands that held him up until the world stopped spinning enough for him to get back on.

Chopper immediately exploded into shrieking questions about are his legs okay, did he start feeling something strange about them, maybe they overlooked some nerve damage in his lower body oh no oh no maybe letting him outside was a bad idea. Luffy simply exploded into laughter. He always laughed like everything was the funniest thing in the world. "C'mon, even _I_ know you get all dizzy if you stand up too quick!"

"O-oh, it was just vertigo?" Chopper backed away and sighed with relief. Sanji tried to express just how insulted he was in his glare, but the nuance was completely lost on Luffy, who wasn't even looking at him anyways, considering that he was laughing so hard he couldn't keep his eyes open.

It was only when he gave up that he noticed that the helping hands that had kept him upright were, in fact, pillars of hands. One of them pointed upwards behind him and he craned his neck back to see Robin leaning over the railing of the second floor. "Oh, Robin-chan!" he cried excitedly, spinning around and backing up so that she didn't look quite so upside-down. Her responding smile sent him over the moon and back again.

"If you lack something to do, then would you like to follow me?"

"Any time~" he crooned, already on the second floor beside her. Not even Zoro's unsubtle grunt of annoyance could sway his attentions from Robin, not when she beckoned him with a silent wave of her hand and led him out of sight to the back of the ship.

He couldn't help but be excited. Taciturn as she was, Robin _never_ asked him to accompany her to...just _hang out_ or something. She probably didn't even _use_ the term 'hang out,' much too crude for her vocabulary. So even when she simply led him up the ladder to the library and suggested that he read something to make the time fly by, Sanji couldn't help but feel honored that she even deigned to offer the idea.

"Shit, I almost forgot I keep some books here," he commented, letting his eyes scan the shelves spanning the round room. It was rather amazing to see so many in one place. A life out on sea didn't tend to overlap with a life of liberal reading, not when there were so many other things to worry about. The only books he managed to get a hold of were copies of old, nostalgic gifts from barely-remembered parents. (The originals he used to take them with him across the seas until they sank into its embrace along with, presumably, everything else in the Orbit.) The only time he had ever seen this many books at once (or maybe even more than this) was when he and Zeff had stayed at a town while the Baratie was being built and he wandered into a bookstore and perused a cookbook curiously. Whereupon he decided, screw this, following instructions was boring as _shit _and he never needed recipes before. As a result, he only had a small, surprising collection of old East Blue picture books and some encyclopedias on various eclectic subjects. No cookbooks.

It was a very nice suggestion, and very thoughtful, but as Sanji's eyes trailed across the room, he couldn't help but bashfully rub the back of his neck. "I mean, I haven't had much time for reading, I guess, but I'm not sure how many books here are all that interesting to me..."

"You enjoy fairy tales, correct?"

"Oh, uh...yeah," he said, too surprised by how she remembered that fact to be embarrassed by his own childish hobby. Robin was already moving towards one of her shelves, which he had been sure were mostly full of dry history stuff.

"I have various collections of folktales and mythology that were common to the various Blues, ranging in time periods and categories, including fables, epic poetry, cautionary tales, and romantic adventures," said Robin, and Sanji fell in love all over again.

"But," he protested even as Robin's various hands piled more and more books into his arms, the stack growing enough that he had to struggle to peer over it, "I mean...I don't...I might damage them, I couldn't..."

Robin's smile was as warm as the touch of her hand on his shoulder, and her voice resonated with the sincerity of heated apple cider on a cold winter night. "I would never tell someone they weren't allowed to read because they might damage something that is perfectly repairable."

After a moment, Sanji returned her smile with one that was as straight as his eyebrows. "Thanks. Really, thanks a lot, I owe ya. I'm gonna like, make you _so many _cakes."

"There is nothing you owe me, and you will do that regardless," said Robin, and she lightly shoved him towards the bench. And whether she was right or not, Sanji was already planning out a schedule of coffee-flavored cakes and – well maybe red velvet cakes were too sweet, he knew she preferred something with less sugar – until he actually sat down and cracked open a book, which instantly banished all thoughts of savory confectioneries.

Sanji read like he ate: slowly, and savoring every morsel like it might be the last he ever had. The language might have been as simple as the stories, but from the very first word, he was drawn in to the familiar-yet-different worlds of princes and knights and dragons and plucky heroines and three (always three) trials and animals that may or may not talk. It was so stupid how seriously enthralled he got, especially since he could probably say that the past two years of his life had been more fantastical than any fairy tale he could read. But, well...these stories had karma, and everything was always right in the end, and you didn't have to think about pesky things like what happened later and whether the kingdom eventually fell to famine or a stronger army or some shit like that. It was comforting.

Sure, he could always get some story from Usopp, but he tended to keep to one type of story. And nothing against him, but he wasn't exactly the most _literary._ There was an entire entrancing language that these old stories used, and it just wasn't the kind of language used for extravagantly tall tales. He missed this. He really did.

After a few hours that felt compressed into a few seconds, Robin tapped his shoulder and he emerged from the pages to the sound of Usopp calling his name outside. "It's around the time you make dinner," she explained, and he hopped to his feet and stretched his back in preparation for the long work ahead of him.

"Why don't you take one of the books out with you?"

Sanji hesitated and repeated the whole song and dance of being overly grateful for such a tiny gesture and Robin just laughed it off again. He picked out the collection of West Blue stories as she started rearranging the shelves to make room in his section for the other books. He made a point to detour to the men's quarters to place it far away from errant sparks of oil and ember and after dinner, he popped a pill before handling the pages to lessen the chance of damaging it with shitty hand spasms (even if Chopper told him that the medicine was for _pain only,_ stupid, it doesn't work like that). It was the book he brought up to the crow's nest in the dead of night, relishing the points of similarity he found between the stories of a supposedly foreign land and the stories he heard as a child and pondering the unity of the world, at least until Zoro ruined the atmosphere with his obnoxious green head.

He popped his head through the hatch and froze, seeing Sanji's reclining form. "What the hell are you doing _here?"_ He sounded genuinely confused, it was almost enough to make him feel sorry for the goddamn idiot.

"First watch is mine," he drawled, keeping the book raised to his face in a very obvious manner. "You'd know that if you had stayed the fuck awake during dinner, asshole." At the furrow of Zoro's brow, Sanji sighed and added, "I said I wanted to start actually contributing to the team and shit, and everybody agreed to let me do night watch again."

Zoro stayed watching him from the floor for a few seconds, looking like the ugliest carrot he'd ever seen, before seemingly accepting his explanation with a nod and pulling the rest of himself up into the round room.

"What part of 'first watch is mine' don't you understand?" Sanji snapped and oh my god he was already moving to the weights, did this guy think of anything _other_ than his own goddamn muscles?

"You don't look like you're paying that much attention."

"Oh, like _you're_ gonna do better hefting those dumbbells like a shitty ape?"

"My eyes'll be free, unlike yours, _dartboard_."

"Why don'cha just chew on a fucking date and watch a board game for a thousand years, _mosshead_."

At this, Zoro's brow furrowed again, making the swordsman look even denser than he usually did, and Sanji had to hold back a scoff. "Is that a reference to something?"

"Yeah," Sanji said, not really wanting to admit that he was referencing a story for children. "I was thinking about what a shitty unfortunate thing it is that you had to be born in _my_ generation, of all times, and how nice it'd be if you went to sleep for a thousand fucking years so you'd never bother me again."

"You're a real goddamn asshole," Zoro shot back between reps.

Sanji smirked behind his book, because if goddamn Zoro was going to distract him from reading, at least he was going to have fun. "Nice one. Maybe if you actually joined the rest of us civilized folk and _read_ once in a while, you'd finally shed your neanderthal skin and become an _articulate_ member of society, hm?"

Zoro grunted but didn't respond in any other way, which was somewhat disappointing. With a sigh, Sanji snapped the book shut and looked out the window behind him, glaring past his own reflection as the rhythmic clinking of weights threatened to chisel away at his patience.

"Surprised you even managed to get up here on your own," Zoro said much too conversationally.

"What, my hands aren't _that_ fucked up that I can't climb a shitty ladder."

Somehow without turning around Zoro gave the impression that he was raising his eyebrow along with his weights. "So you didn't lose your weak-ass grip at all on the way up?"

"_No,_" said Sanji in a manner that indicated that he did, and only survived by looping his leg through the rope rungs. He hadn't realized until just then how much work his arms did pulling him up, which should have been obvious, really, but he somehow never noticed and was afflicted with aching shoulders and unresponsive arms for his stupid ignorance. Hopefully the climb down would be easier, otherwise he might consider living up here from now on.

Zoro let out a condescending scoff that was barely audible above the up-and-down of his ridiculously large weights. "Maybe _you're_ the one who needs to sleep for a thousand years."

Sanji very carefully laid Robin's book on the bench and then proceeded to aim the tip of his shoe at Zoro's fucking head.

Zoro deflected the kick with a taut arm and continued peacefully pumping iron. The only acknowledgment he made of the attack was to back up and actually face him, but his hands still didn't so much as flutter towards his swords. Couldn't even bother swinging a weight at his face in retaliation, the bastard.

"When the hell did _you_ become some shitty pacifist, huh? The way you've been ignoring me is _really _pissing me off, so I've been itching for a fight for like a _month_ now, asshole! Let's do it!"

Sanji's impressive finger pointing was met with a very unimpressed stare. "I don't make it a habit to attack the injured."

Oh no. Not this shit from _Zoro_ of all people. "What, is that part of your _swordsman's honor_ crap?" he sneered, tapping his shoe on the floor. "Not sure if you heard the news, but the doc already said my injuries are all fucking healed, so you don't have to worry about _me._"

"Not your hands," Zoro remarked, still not stopping his reps like a shitty tool.

It was a few seconds before Sanji could regain full functionality of his jaw. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, shit swordsman? What, your brain can't do photosynthesis with the sun down? I don't fucking need my hands to do _this,_" and fists jammed in his pockets, Sanji spun on his toes for a perfectly executed roundhouse kick that forced Zoro to drop one of his weights to catch with his hand. It was a start. He probably would feel more accomplished if the damn mosshead would make the effort to contort his face into anything besides that shitty impassive stare.

"You can't do those hand kicks though."

Sanji, stuck with his leg in the air and trying to keep balanced in a painful-to-maintain pose, squinted from closer to the floor than he was used to. "What the fuck. Is that what you call _punches?_"

That got a reaction at least, a downward twitch of an eyebrow. "_No._ Y'know, that thing you do, when you get on your hands and then," with a bewildering circular wave of a dumbbell, Zoro helplessly explained, "_whoosh._"

Sanji mulled over these words as best as he could on one leg. "Are you talking about the Party Table Kick Course?"

"Maybe? Yeah." Of _course_ the asshole wouldn't bother to remember the names of his moves, didn't fucking care _one iota._ Admittedly, Sanji didn't bother to remember any of his swords shit, 'cause they all looked the goddamn same anyways, waving around a glorified sharp stick like a moron. "You telling me you can do one of those?"

Sanji glanced towards the floor and grimaced.

"Then I'm not fighting you." And the matter was dropped in the same way that Zoro finally dropped his leg – not at all, because Sanji was a stubborn bastard. Hopping on his one available foot, the cook managed to gain enough momentum to twist his entire body and slam his left calf into the side of Zoro's head. Not quite enough force to really do any damage, but enough to make the dumb brute drop his other dumbbell.

That did it. When the surprise wore off, Zoro warped his ugly mug into an even uglier snarl, picked him up with the leg he was still holding, and threw him head-first into the floor. Sanji bounced once and flopped onto his back, head ringing like a church bell at noon, but it was totally fucking worth it.

"Thought you said you didn't fight injured men," he taunted from his unimpressive position on the floor.

"_Fuck you!"_ Zoro roared over him, face demonic red even though he was doing nothing more than pointing. "I told you _we're not fighting!_ What the _fuck_ did you do that for?!"

Sanji snorted, widening his splitting headache. "I ain't someone who does that whole stupid _bushido code_ shit, man. Of _course _I'll kick a guy if he's not kicking back, what are you, some naïve _kid?_"

"Funny you say that, since the reason you're like this is 'cause _you were the guy not kicking!_"

Sanji's condescending sneer dropped all the way to the bottom of the ocean and _shit,_ how did the conversation turn back to this already? Couldn't they all just be as tired of the subject as he was?

Zoro panted from the shouting harder than he had ever done after a workout. As soon as his breathing slowed, he continued, softer, "If you're actually smart enough to know _that,_ then why the hell weren't you smart enough to not get _hurt?_"

No, no, noooooope, he didn't need this now, not from fucking _Zoro._ "I was just _protecting_ the _crew._ Like you don't do the same shit all the time."

"I also make sure not to get my ass _killed,_ idiot."

"Oh fuck you, _fuck. You,_" Sanji spat, flinging his torso upright and his hand in a dramatic point at the swordsman. He probably looked like a petulant child having a tantrum, but frankly, his head was still stinging like the worst part of a concussion. "I am _not_ going to have _this lecture_ by _the shithead with absolutely no self-preservation skills._ Have you _ever_ looked in the mirror at that _fucking scar_ down your _entire chest?_ Or maybe _thought_ about all the times you were, like, _literally_ a fountain of blood and you decided to keep fighting anyways? _You're_ the one everybody should be afraid for, because _you're_ going to die like an _idiot_ and I'll outlive you by a hundred years and die laughing at your _overgrown grave._"

"Oh yeah?" Zoro snarled before yanking him up by the thick fleece of his shirt so that he was forced to his feet before slamming him against the wall. Sanji squirmed for the sake of appearances, but it wasn't like he could throw the more muscular man off. That bonehead could stand to take a hint once in a while, his sweat _reeked._ "From where I'm standing, _you're_ the one lining up for a funeral pyre, 'cause _you're_ the _only one_ who's got this _really stupid habit_ of _not fighting back when someone wants to kill you."_

"Thriller. Bark."

He spat the words like a kick and Zoro actually recoiled, stepping back and letting him go. Sanji swayed a little under his own weight but never let up that glare with the power of a two-year-old secret behind it. The swordsman actually looked betrayed, for a moment, before setting his jaw and shooting back, "You wanted to do the same thing too."

"It makes more sense for _me!_" And oh boy, he didn't exactly mean to say _that_ much. The outburst stunned Zoro, maybe, it was always hard to tell. Zoro's facial expressions only differed by the number of furrows in his brow, and even then there was always a bit of an overlap between certain emotions. You could have entire scholarly debates about what each furrow meant. Sanji used the cold silence to quickly press on. "How're you supposed to do that 'number one swordsman' shit if you're _dead,_ asshole?"

Zoro's brow subtly adjusted one of its furrows. "If I died from just that, then I wasn't meant to be the number one swordsman anyways."

"Oh my _god,_" Sanji said, reeling back as though the sheer stupidity had scalded his face, and he stormed the circumference of the crow's nest with his head in his hands because _oh my god._ "Aren't you just being impatient?" he finally accused, shouting more than he meant at the emotionally-dead brute.

Zoro watched his melodramatic pacing with his arms crossed. "Aren't you being suicidal?"

"You selfish son of a seaweed's shit," Sanji snarled and suddenly he was the one grasping at Zoro's shoulders, shaking as hard as he can and just ending up pissed at Zoro's impassive face. "I can't believe we _had_ to have a first mate as stupid and bull-headed as _you._"

"I'm not the first mate," Zoro said, only looking down at him from a centimeter's advantage but making it look like a foot.

"_You're the first mate by default, you unbelievable asshole,_" Sanji hissed, because of _course_ Zoro would get so lost that he'd just wander into a position by _accident._ "I know that maybe half of everybody on this ship barely have _any_ idea about the structure of a _functioning crew,_ but I would think it'd be _common fucking sense _that the two people who are absolutely _not_ expendable are the captain and the _fucking first mate,_ even if they happen to be _hopeless morons with half a brain cell between them._"

Zoro's glare intensified. "_Nobody's_ expendable."

"_I know!"_ Sanji shouted as he threw his hands up, walked away, and resumed pacing and making very frustrated gurgling sounds. "I fucking _know_ that, fucking, the worth of a human life, fuckhead, but _real life doesn't work that way_ and if anybody has to die, it should be – "

Sanji's distracted gesturing was interrupted by a thick hand grabbing his throat and slamming his already-abused head against the wall. He was vaguely aware of his feet dangling above the floor, but the more urgent thing his mind was preoccupied with was the arm that was pinning him up in the first place. Even though he didn't feel strangled, Sanji's hands automatically scrabbled to Zoro's wrist and gripped it hard as though that would help in any way.

"What the fuck is this shit you're babbling about," Zoro growled, not paying any mind to the way Sanji's breath kept hitching. "Aren't you stronger than this?"

There was no more clinking of weights. No more rustling of pages. Only the ragged breathing of two men and the occasional tap-tap of Sanji's heels against the wall, beating out the rhythm of the waves.

Sanji gulped down as much air as he could. "I can't believe I'm getting a lecture from a fucking lazy piece of shit that doesn't even know his own responsibilities." He tried to chuckle and ended up coughing instead. Zoro continued holding him up. "Doesn't know how to manage a ship, doesn't know shit about the cargo...the fucking first mate's supposed to be the _rock,_ asshole. All those shitheads're gonna look to _you_ for fucking answers. It's a shitty position you're supposed to _earn,_ not stumble into like the idiot you are. Take away the first mate, the crew's dynamic gets all fucked up. That's...that's why you can't die.

"As for me..."

Pain suddenly exploded in his face. Zoro had punched him, squeezing his nose like an accordion and cutting his lip in the process. The smell of iron overwhelmed everything else. It spread down his face, dripped on his shirt, filled his lungs, and Zoro just kept fucking _staring_ at him, blood like rivulets around his knuckles, and the funny thing was that for once, he was covered in something _other_ than his own blood.

Zoro at least had the courtesy to let him back on the floor. His fucking face felt like a firework. He brought a hand to his chin, letting the blood pool in his palm, keeping it hovering around his nose, because he shouldn't touch it, that was a bad idea, _don't touch it._

He touched it and it hurt even more than he thought it would. Zoro wiped his blood off on his pants, paying no mind to his muffled curses and hisses of pain even though his sharp eye never left Sanji's slightly bent figure.

"Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence," Zoro said needlessly – no, uselessly, because the swordsman should really _know_ better by now, that Sanji was an asshole and that saying such a thing around him would achieve the opposite result.

"_Cooks are replaceable,_" he spat with some of his blood.

Zoro punched him again, this time across the cheek, and he reeled and caught himself on the bench. He didn't even dare think about standing up again, not when his vision was all blotchy. He could see Zoro shaking out his hand. Maybe the bastard scraped his knuckles. Served him right.

"Why the fuck are you so _hung up_ about this? Is being a fucking _martyr_ part of your _romantic bullshit_ thing?"

His cheek wasn't bleeding but it was still a bad idea to touch it, so of course he touched it like a shitty moron. Darkness seemed to spread from his left to his right until he blinked it away. _Fuck_, he really needed to clean himself up. At least he wasn't wearing one of the expensive dress shirts, and it was just some stupid black sweatshirt too, the stains wouldn't show up too bad.

Zoro's sweaty hand clapped on his shoulder before he could get himself to the ladder. "I asked you a _question,_ asshole."

Sanji sighed like he had just been told to hold up the sky, and even _that_ hurt, the way it stretched his skin and opened the cut on his lip wider. He tasted more iron and let it dribble down his chin. And because he couldn't rub his forehead without potentially blacking out (though _there_ was an idea about getting out of this), he wrapped his arms uncomfortably around his stomach instead.

"I know death."

Zoro's hand didn't leave his shoulder, though its weight did seem to lessen. It certainly wouldn't be the answer Sanji would expect either.

"What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I _know_ death," he repeated.

"I know about death too, asshole, and I – "

Sanji threw off his hand and whirled around, his head lagging behind because it _really_ couldn't handle any sudden movements. "_No,_ you _fucking don't!_" Blood was spraying out of his lip now, coming out of his mouth like bullets, but who even gave a shit anymore. Sanji brought his hands to his head like he was holding it together, but in reality, he was tearing it apart. "You don't know _anything,_ you _fucking idiot,_ and I know 'cause you wouldn't be so, so _fucking cavalier_ about all that shit you do! You've _never_ had to fucking _count the days, _knowing that it was _lucky_ you still could, and then lose count anyways because it _wasn't worth the fucking effort!_ You weren't the one who had to _view his own body as a ration_, had to calculate how much you could afford to walk or even _stay awake_, weigh that against the probability that – that you'd – you never fucking had to_ – _"

Somewhere inside, he had never left that rock. Never actually stopped being a kid, as much as he'd insist he had grown up. He would wake up at night, hearing the sound of waves crashing against the Thousand Sunny, and he'd have to remind himself that he wasn't still there, would never be there again, had to check his arms, his legs, his face, his stomach, had to check that his body wasn't eating him from the inside out. It took him _years_ to stop himself from compulsively hoarding food, from eating until he was sick, from devolving to a desperate animal during mealtimes, and he'd like to think he had _control_ now but sometimes watching Luffy grab at everybody's plates wrenched at his stomach and remember, remember the time you were ten, eyes wide, screeching and hissing at any hand that came close to your plate, and you never went a single meal without choking on something or another but you couldn't slow down?

He had been lucky as shit. He had been lucky he didn't die during those eighty-five hellish days, lucky that the ship even found them in the first place, lucky that he didn't die on the ship before he got better. In all probability, he should have died. But he didn't.

Sanji realized he was starting to taste salt along with the iron, but he tried to pass it off with a manic laugh. "I mean, you fucking killed people for a _living,_ you keep _almost_ dying, and you don't fucking _know death;_ fucking pathetic, don't you think?"

"Not as pathetic as someone who doesn't know his own worth," said Zoro, his face forcibly chiseled.

Sanji kicked him in the ribs and Zoro didn't dodge or block or counter, simply let himself be launched into the weight rack with a heavy _clang. _He could have broken some bones, but if he did, Sanji didn't bother to find out. He simply strode the few steps it took to grab his book again and left with Zoro still slumped where he landed.

The night air stung like hail and clouded his head, but otherwise his climb was easy. Sanji washed his face off, dabbing at the blood with his sleeve rather than the towel to avoid any unnecessary questions, and slipped into bed before promptly staying awake the rest of the night.

He tried to feel his own flesh and remembered that he couldn't feel. It was hard to keep his breathing even.


	7. A Tragedy is a Tragedy is a Tragedy

"Wake up, lazy nose bastard. Time to make breakfast."

Usopp moaned and kept his pillow over his face, like he was considering smothering himself in order to avoid waking up early.

"C'mon, we've already been doing this for a while, shithead, you should be used to this."

"No human being can wake up this early so many days in a row," Usopp breathed out from somewhere in his mess of a bed. "You amnesiac demon...lemme sleep...thirty minutes..."

"I think you mean insomniac," Sanji said, and he tilted Usopp's bunk over so that the sniper fell out, squawking on his way to the floor. Luffy, who had been perched above in his usual haphazard way, got jostled and bounced off the floor before sitting up.

"Whuzzaguh? 'zzit meat-time...?"

"Go back to sleep, Luffy," Sanji said, but Luffy was already asleep. That just left the mess of blankets and legs that was Usopp.

"Whyyyyyyy do I have to get uuuuuuup," the sniper blarghed to the ceiling, beseeching it for divine intervention, or at least a doctor's note. "Why does anybody have to get up. Why can't we just do everything on our backs, like the majestic flounder."

"Flounders are pretty great," Sanji admitted, bending down to whisk the blanket away. Usopp curled up, eyes still squeezed shut. "Naturally flaky and sweet, y'know. Makes a damn good fillet – just imagine, frying it in browned butter, infusing it with a slight touch of toasty nuttiness, add a sprinkle of lemon juice to balance out the flavor...imagine the way the soft meat would peel off in smooth, white crescents as you cut into it with your fork...the way the smell would engulf you before you even took a bite, and then once it settles on your tongue..." Sanji gave an exaggerated, content sigh as he folded up Usopp's blanket and set it back in bed, and Usopp cringed at the sound.

"Stop, _stop,_ you're making me hungry!"

Sanji's grin could only be described as devilish as he leaned over Usopp's face. "Of course. You _love_ fish. Now get up and cook already, you're hungry anyways."

Usopp muttered some explicitly dark things as he slowly creaked upright, but stopped halfway to squint at the cook. "What happened to your face?"

Sanji turned away. "Tripped. It's no big deal."

"There's blood on your bandages."

Fuck. Even when Usopp was half-asleep, he still had his ridiculous eagle eyes. Really useful, but _really_ annoying sometimes. Sanji crossed his left arm behind his back and wondered how the shit he forgot about the bandages. "Get your ass in the kitchen before I whisper more food porn into your fish-loving ears."

That finally got the lazy ass in gear. Usopp scurried on all fours before gaining enough momentum to get on his feet and lurch the rest of the way out. Sanji shut the door behind them before anybody else woke up, though lingered to peer through the window for a few seconds.

"Did you see that shitty swordsman in there?" Sanji asked as casually as he could while prodding Usopp whenever the teen started lagging.

"What? Iunno, I was distracted by fish because of some _cruel morning tempter._" Usopp dodged a kick and jogged the rest of the way to the kitchen, the one mostly-guaranteed safe zone from Sanji's attacks. Before he slipped through the door, he puckered his lips in concentration. "I'm not sure I heard him snoring."

The conversation skipped for a few seconds once Sanji entered his domain. There, at the dining table, riffling through maps, was Nami.

She didn't usually get up in this hour, and she sure looked like it, from the exhausted squint of her eyes to the barely-contained yawns behind her hand, and Sanji was already bursting from the inside out to immediately bounce over and fuss about this and that, but – and this was a _huge_ but.

Nami had not wanted to talk to him _once_ for the past few months.

She had never said it. She had never shouted at his approach, or shoved him away, or even said a bad word. But she walked away from his presence when she could, her eyes filming over with a cold harshness that Sanji remembered from long ago, when he had only just joined and didn't know nothing about nobody but he tried his best to butt into some inner-crew conflict anyways. And even though she had intentionally put herself in an environment where it was unavoidable they would meet, she absolutely did not want to talk to him.

So Sanji tore himself away and latched his eyes onto Usopp like a leech.

"I can't believe you memorized the way his fucking _snores_ sound," he continued, adding a subtle chuckle for good measure.

Usopp gave a rather doubtful glance in return but didn't break off the act. "Don't act like you haven't either, I mean, we had _plenty_ of time. His snoring is _inescapable._"

"Almost part of the goddamn ship," Sanji admitted, washing his hands before opening up all the locks for Usopp to have free rein. As Usopp took his sweet time deliberating over the stock, Sanji took the chance to start up the coffee machine; not that he wasn't going to respect Nami's space, but she looked _really_ tired and the sight of her scowling face made his entire chest squeeze with sympathy, empathy, and whatever other- pathys there existed in the known and unknown human range of emotions. Their hard-working navigator _deserved _a good night's rest, and if she didn't get it, like _hell _he'd just stand by and watch her suffer in duty-induced sopor, even if she happened to dearly prefer him to stand by and not engage her in any interaction whatsoever. He'd just have Usopp deliver it when it was done or something.

Cooking went slower than usual. Not only did he forget his fucking pain meds, forcing him to make a quick run (trying to ignore the feeling of his arms being burned, being shocked, being excruciatingly taken apart bit by bit), he seemed to be dropping shit all the time. He had learned to stop everything once his hands started shaking up a storm, but they were doing that _constantly_ and he kinda had shit to do so he opted to just power through it. After countless clangs of falling knives, Usopp offered to just make everything today, and Sanji promptly told him to fuck off and mind his own shitty meals because he was letting his shitty porridge burn, shithead.

It really didn't help that he kept glancing up to where Nami sat.

He didn't even know what he was trying to do. Meet her eyes? Except he didn't want to see that cold harshness again. Just observe her? But that was kinda pointless, maybe a little creepy, and also he was handling really sharp knives with really unstable hands. Maybe he just wanted to see some sort of confirmation from her. Or that, if he looked up, he'd see her looking back, acknowledging him without any prompting, and everything would be fine.

If only Nami was more like Luffy (and oh _god_ he wasn't expecting to think that), who got bored with being moody, knew he was happier being happy, and found it easy to be easy-going even with the people he hated.

Not that he was implying that Nami was imperfect or anything like that, of course he wouldn't want her changed _one bit_ because he loved her _just as she was._

But _hypothetically..._

"So," Usopp said with a relaxed tone so faux that he could _smell_ the artifice, "what happened last night?"

That shitty, nosy bastard. Sanji glanced towards Nami again. "Nothing."

"Except tripping and falling on your face."

"It's no big deal."

"Shouldn't you check up with Chopper or something? Your nose looks..." Usopp made a noise and wavered his hand back and forth, which, Sanji supposed, was _one_ way of saying 'like someone ran it over with a train, backed up, and ran over it again.'

Sanji whirled around and waved a knife towards Usopp, which was probably careless of him given that he had dropped it a minute ago. "All he needs to do is change my bandages. Don't even _think_ about telling him."

Usopp shrugged and turned back to his burbling pot. "Sure, but I _really_ don't think me not telling him will stop him from noticing."

To be honest, Sanji hadn't looked in any reflective surface at all this morning and so had no idea how far his face progressed into utter shittitude. But he could imagine, based on how it felt, the way the left side of his face puffed with a purple tinge like a rotten eggplant. Every time he breathed through his nose, he smelled lingering flakes of blood, and his lower lip felt clumsy and bloated. In summary, he was probably not at his best.

"It's _fine,_" he insisted, foregoing what he knew for good ol' denial. "All I'm saying is, don't cause any unnecessary worry – "

"Oh my _god._"

It was so soft that it could have been a fly's sigh, but the cooks, both professional and honorary, whipped their heads up to where their guest was seated, ignoring their food for the time being. Nami had dropped all pretenses of looking like she was busy and instead was glaring at Sanji with something that wasn't cold, but sure as hell was harsh.

"The more you tell us not to worry, the more we _have_ to worry about you, _idiot!_"

And with that outburst, the navigator collected all her papers and stormed out, leaving behind an unfinished cup of coffee.

Sanji stared at the table. Usopp looked from the door to the cook and back again before hesitantly raising a hand to his shoulder. "Um, look – "

Before Usopp's hand could reach its destination, Sanji spun around and hid his warm face behind his hands, trying not to smile too hard for the sake of his split lip and failing miserably. "She's _worried_ about me!"

Usopp scrunched his nose in pure disbelief. "You're such an idiot."

Despite half of the kitchen staff suddenly and mysteriously suffering from a fat lip, the making of breakfast went well. Sanji insisted on having the table set before the two of them paid a visit to the infirmary next door.

As the two entered the back, they could see Chopper waving off Zoro from the front. The swordsman was in the middle of stuffing his shirt back on, and Sanji could see a wisp of bandages around his torso before they were covered up by Zoro's shitty fashion sense. And then the door closed and Chopper turned around and almost jumped out of his adorable, furry skin. And then almost jumped again when he noticed the state of their faces.

"What happened?!" he screeched, bounding over to hover his hooves around their wounds like particularly maternal UFOs.

"Sanji kicked me."

"Yeah, I did," Sanji agreed, raising a hand in lackadaisical apology while keeping his left tucked behind his back. "In my defense, Usopp was being a shitty asshole."

Chopper made a strangely animalistic noise that might have been the primal ancestor of the exasperated sigh as he dragged Usopp to the bed and hopped towards his shelves to rustle up some salves and bandages. "First Zoro hurts himself training too hard, and now you two. Honestly! You guys are too much! This crew needs a _team_ of doctors, and only for just three, four people!"

"Well that's why we have you, isn't it?" Sanji replied as sweetly as he could, stepping out of the doctor's way and towards the nearest trash can.

Chopper, in the middle of taping gauze to Usopp's cheek, suddenly smothered his face in Usopp's very accommodating hair. Sanji vaguely heard a muffled, "Shut up~! Nuh-uh~!" before the doctor managed to compose himself enough to face Sanji as seriously as the tiny fluff-baby could. It kind of looked like he was trying to swallow a live eel, the way he had to clamp down on his lip in attempts to stop it from twitching into a smile. Sanji found himself turning away just so he didn't succumb to the same expression.

"Friends shouldn't fight," Chopper asserted with all the doctorly authority he could muster. It was never very much.

"Well, y'know, sometimes your best friends are the ones who beat you up," Usopp said as blasé as he could while wincing from the rubbing alcohol being applied around his nose. "Just a little roughhousing. It's like teasing, except with more blood."

Chopper turned his round eyes towards the sniper like a lighthouse staring in horror at an incoming ship. "I don't wanna get beat up by my friends."

Usopp laughed in order to ward off those distressingly wide pupils. "Well, I mean, you don't _have_ to, it's just...look, nobody's going to beat you up, Chopper. Don't worry about it. Please. Nobody beats up Brook, right?"

"I would," Sanji growled, and Chopper's eyes went wider.

"Ignore him. He's a thug. _Horrible_ role model." Usopp's glare was deflected by Sanji's cold shoulder as they switched places, the cook becoming the patient and the sniper, the bystander.

Chopper frowned as Sanji hopped on the bed. "Um. Where are your bandages?"

"I threw 'em away just now. I mean, you're changing them anyways, figured I'd speed up the process." Sanji rolled his shoulders into a shrug, which didn't impress Chopper all that much and _certainly_ didn't impress Usopp, who gave him much of the same look that had gotten him kicked in the first place.

"If you're not careful, you could get an infection. So could you _please_ just...let me handle everything?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Didn't think it was a big deal," Sanji drawled, trying not to shiver as Chopper slathered that slimy salve all over his burn. It wasn't like he could feel the eerie chill of medicinal curatives, or even how disconcertingly viscous it was in the first place, but the power of disgusting medicine knew no bounds. Just the sight of it engulfing his hand was enough and _ugh,_ he wanted to wash it off already.

Worse still was the smell of the rubbing alcohol as Chopper dabbed at his cheek and his nose. It drilled inside of him and stabbed at his brain, sharper than any spice he knew, and even though it certainly hurt to have his various bruises prodded, the smell was the only reason his eyes teared up. Fucking _awful._

"Sanji, you're more hurt than Usopp is," Chopper commented, feeling up his nose for some doctor reason.

He could feel Usopp's hard stare like a looming curse, but Sanji decided to believe that 'out of sight, out of mind' idiom for once and focused on the doctor instead. "I just tripped on the stairs. Nothing major."

Chopper's face looked like sour milk and a bunch of lemons. Tripped on the stairs, huh? And only hurt your face? No scrapes on your knees or your shin, or even your arms? What, so you perfectly landed on your head? You stupid asshole.

But Chopper didn't say any of that. Just put a small brace on his nose and put something abrasively foul on his lip. "Anyways, try not to start fights, okay?"

"Yeah," said Usopp. His arms were crossed, but his nose could still point in accusation.

Sanji spared the two of them one glance each. "Yeah, sure. Wouldn't want to damage that miraculous nose of yours, Usopp."

He didn't wait around to see their frowns deepen and loudly proclaimed that it was breakfast time and it wouldn't be his fault if they got their portions gobbled up by the resident walking stomach. The infirmary released him with a poorly-hidden, collective sigh as he reentered the dining room just in time to kick Luffy's thieving butt away from the table.

Somehow, throughout the whole meal, Sanji managed to avoid everybody's eyes and then escaped any awkward questions by jumping up as soon as he was done and muttering excuses that he had to finish a book so he could return it. His march to the library was quick and uninterrupted, only hindered by the damn ladder.

Robin wasn't in there, something Sanji was oddly relieved about. It was morning, a time she preferred to spend taking care of the garden. Her affinity for flowers seemed oddly apt, considering her Devil Fruit, and Sanji wondered if she developed an interest in them before or after. Though really, he didn't even know _when_ she ate the Fruit, so maybe that interest had always coexisted with her power.

Maybe it was something that he understood well. The feeling of loneliness, of having no family or identity to latch onto. The need to belong, and the choice to fall in love with something that was always present, could be found anywhere, would never leave. For him, he chose the sea. And for Robin...

Well, maybe he was over-thinking it. He couldn't expect everybody to be as stupidly romantic as him.

He chose another book quickly enough (this one apparently a collection of recorded tales by wayward sailors), but wasn't sure where to return the first one. It was Robin's after all, so he should put it back where she would keep it, but she surely must have a system of organization that he wouldn't want to fuck up like an idiot. He wouldn't be so boorish as to just leave it out, and so he was obviously _morally obligated_ to figure out Robin's organization system and place the book back in its rightful place.

And so it was that Robin entered the room to find Sanji circling around the shelves, squinting and mumbling like someone who had lost his glasses and was currently trying to find them in the icebox.

"Are you in need of assistance?" she asked, her eyes glinting with the laughter that she was too polite to let out.

Sanji spun around, already smiling even before he was graced with her visage. "Ah, Robin-chan~, what a coincidence! I was just – " At this point, his fucking hands took the chance to seize up again and he fucking dropped the books.

The world slowed down, as it did in times like these. Sanji had experienced enough adrenaline rushes that he might be considered as addicted to those as he was to nicotine. It couldn't be helped, in an environment as frantic as a full-time kitchen, where mistakes could happen and disasters absolutely had to be averted by any means necessary, even if it meant learning how to catch plates with his goddamn mouth and calculate the trajectory of, like, thirty different objects in order to balance them on his leg. But as it turned out, books were not plates (thicker, kinda flappy, had easily bendable things inside), and his hands were being uncoordinated shitheads not worth a fucking bottle cap and all he could do was fumble around with the things for a little while before tipping forwards too far and falling over.

Robin stopped him from suffering a rather karmic fate of his lie becoming truth, catching him before he made his crash landing. On top of that, she caught the books. Sanji had a moment to unbrace himself and let his hair settle before Robin's network of hands gave him a push and he toppled up rather than down. Before he even figured out whether he had vertigo or not, Robin set the books back in his wheeling hands.

"We wouldn't want to injure that nose again," she remarked, and he flushed at the way she said it like it would have affected her as well. He tried to find a way to casually obscure his face as best as he could and wound up tugging at his bangs in a decidedly not casual way. Maybe he could grow them out more, style them to cover up his shitty nose and the entire cheek and maybe just his entire face, at least until he healed up and could stop looking like some punk kid in front of one of the most mature women in the world he had the pleasure to attend to.

"Th-thanks," he managed, bowing his head and keeping it that way because gosh, he hadn't examined Robin's stylish heels in a while, wasn't it amazing how women could walk around in those, he had a hard time trying it for an _hour _and _oh shit oh shit this train of thought was getting dangerous abort abort_ "I came here to return this to you," he babbled, swinging up the arm with the book (and hopefully it wouldn't shake too much) while keeping his head down.

"Oh, you aren't keeping it?"

Sanji's eyes kept still on Robin's feet for a few seconds before weaving their way up to her enigmatic face. "Um. What? No, I mean...they're yours, I wouldn't – "

"Mine? But I was giving them as a gift. Perhaps I was too unclear..."

The sight of Robin setting her hand to her chin was too much to bear. "No, no no no! I can't believe I _completely_ misread your intentions, Robin-chan, I'm _so _sorry! That your pure heart was completely wasted on a dolt like me – "

Robin set her hand on Sanji's shoulder, like, her _actual_ hand, and it was like he was being shocked by Enel all over again. His body felt so electrified that he almost didn't notice the heavy, melancholic way she looked down at him. "Please. You don't have to apologize for this."

Her words were nostalgic, like a mother's home-cooked meal, and Sanji almost wished he had a memory to put to that feeling. The void in his mind threatened to acquiesce to Robin's words, but something inside him couldn't help but rebel, just as it had always done in similar situations. "B-but, do you really want to give _all_ of them to me? I mean, it's a lot of books, you bought it with your own money and..."

Sanji moved to turn towards the shelves, but Robin didn't let go of him and kept him facing her. This was different. On the ship, he had honestly never seen her as anything other than relaxed and poised, her expression a variation of fetching smiles. Even in times of peril, she didn't lose her humor very easily – a testament to how experienced she was, or maybe how controlled. It wasn't very often that she directed a frown towards any of her crew members.

It wasn't very often that she directed a frown towards _him._

"Why don't we sit?" she said, and he obeyed it like a command. They were side by side on one of the benches, and while normally Sanji's head would be all aflutter from the sheer proximity, he found himself bogged down with the feeling of making a shit dish and having to answer to Zeff. He didn't expect to feel it again, _here_ of all places. It was worse than he remembered.

He steeled himself as though he were battling a gorgon and glanced over towards her. That cold, examining stare was nowhere in sight, which almost made him cry in relief; but then again, she wasn't looking at him, just staring down at her knees, so maybe she actually couldn't stand to look at him anymore. He had said something wrong. She hated him. She was going to tell him something bad.

"I really am grateful for the gift," he said, because for some reason he thought saying more things would fix everything. "I'll be sure to make it up to you – pastries, I'll be sure to make you all the pastries you could want, egg tarts, croissants, mooncakes...oh, there's something I think you'd like, it's called a vetkoek, have you heard of them? They can be filled with beef or with honey and – "

"Sanji," Robin said, and she spared him a smile and everything inside him melted like chocolate. "You are not in trouble. There is no need to bribe me."

She chuckled at his denials before lowering her eyes and her smile. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Anything."

A slender finger drew a circle in her palm, as though stirring a cup of coffee. A rather endearing habit. "Why did you follow me all the way to Enies Lobby?"

Sanji stiffened, his brow quivering in a question mark. After that event, nobody had really mentioned it ever again – as with all of their escapades, once they were over, all the uncomfortable questions and emotions and conflicts were left behind, not worth talking over, only things to reminisce about privately. The crew was as care-free as their captain, in that respect. Sometimes frustratingly so. Sometimes it felt like Sanji was the only one who held onto all the injuries, all the tension that everybody was happy to forget. And as much as he tried to pretend to be like the others, there were some things that niggled in the back of his mind, begging to be talked about, but...he was certain that talking about them would only serve to make everybody else angry.

He never talked to Nami about her mother. He never talked to Usopp about his negativity. Never talked to Luffy about Ace. Never talked to _anybody_ about that one time when two members of their crew left, or the one terrifying time when one of them almost died.

It worked out pretty well, until last night.

Had Robin been the same way all along? Withholding certain things for two years, only to now pop into an outburst?

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied a little more gruffly than he intended.

"I just found it interesting, that a man who professes to serve women would ignore one who tells him not to follow. I even told you I wanted to die."

Even with the distance that two years granted, even with the detached tone Robin used, those words made him grit his teeth until they ached. "_Nobody_ should ever want to die. You deserve happiness, Robin-chan. You're worth more than a sacrifice."

Robin's smile was much less composed than it usually was, and Sanji only caught a glimpse before she turned her head away and hid her eyes. "...It was such a horrible place, but that was the happiest I had been in a long time. And it still makes me happy, hearing such things being said to me."

So she wasn't angry. Sanji found his shoulders relaxing, saw his hands unclench. "It'll always be true. I'll say it every time."

"It's the same for you."

"Hm?" Sanji said absently before Robin sprang her trap and he was held, paralyzed, by her seriously earnest eyes.

"You deserve happiness, Sanji. You're worth more than a sacrifice."

It felt like a bath of hot oil.

It felt like too much sugar in his throat.

It felt like he was starving all over again.

"I," he said, his face taut, straining to keep him inside. He managed a gulp.

Robin's eyes were the eyes of a goddess, kind and commanding. "I want you to know that." And she clasped her hands around his.

His skin boiled and bubbled, much like when he had burned it – but this time, he could _feel_ it happening, like his hands were being incinerated in holy light, or maybe his shitty nerves were acting up again, and all he could do in the face of Robin's sincerity was stutter and babble like an idiot before wrenching his hands away and running blindly for the door. He veered and tottered and slammed his shoulder into the shelves before his nails scrabbled on the doorknob, and somewhere beyond his own heartbeat he could hear the clatter of falling books, but he couldn't turn around, wouldn't, because if he did, he would be obligated to stay.

He didn't open his eyes until he felt the sea breeze and heard the door slam.

Nami was there. For once, Sanji found himself wishing she wasn't.

She looked about as surprised as he did about his sudden exit, one arm still outstretched to open the door that was currently being blocked. But as her eyes flitted up and down, took in his sweat, his pallid skin, his hastily-hidden face, they softened.

"Sorry," Sanji mumbled, starting to sidle away, "I should get out of your way – "

"Are you okay?" Her outstretched hand was changing targets, looming towards his shoulder.

Sanji dodged and stumbled towards the stairs, his mouth automatically firing off an "I'm fine" before hesitating and actually taking stock. Nami was staring pointedly at his hands. They were shaking again, rather badly, and it turned out the burning pain _was_ nerve damage rather than his weird, flowery imagination. His arms shuddered like they were being pummeled by the air itself, and it sure as hell felt that way too. He wobbled on the steps and dug for the bottle of pills, struggled with the shitty cap, fumbled with the goddamn small as shit bottle, fucking _dropped_ it again shitty bastard _fuck_

Nami snatched the pain medication out of the air as she pushed one hand down on his shoulder. "Sit," she said, and he did. "How many?"

"One," he gritted out, staring hard at the hands in his lap and trying to bend them to his will. But it was no use, they weren't his anymore.

Nami plopped down next to him on the stairs, took his wrist firmly in her grasp, and placed one of the tasteless tablets into his palm. "I'm going to try to keep your hand still, okay? It's coming up now."

The two of them vibrated with the effort of keeping him still as his clenched hand came up to his mouth and finally deposited the pill. Sanji leaned over on his quivering hands as Nami silently screwed the cap back on and handed it over.

"Now that wasn't so bad, wasn't it?"

Sanji managed to raise his head to look at her. "Huh?"

"I helped you out and you didn't explode or whatever stupid thing you've got against actually asking for help."

He could do nothing but laugh at that. "Thanks. So...you don't hate me?"

Nami brought her knees up and buried her chin in them, still not looking at him. "I hate how much of a stubborn idiot you are."

"Sorry."

"You're not."

"I am! Look, I'll make you something – how about a smoothie? Or maybe a fruit custard? It won't take long."

His hands still shook, but they could grab onto a railing well enough. Nami watched him as he pulled himself back on his feet and continued to the kitchen. "Is it okay for you to cook right now? I'm pretty sure pain meds don't work that fast."

They certainly didn't, obviously, but Sanji smiled anyways. "It'll be fine, I can do it. I _want_ to do it."

"I don't think you're being honest with me."

"No, really! I want to make up for being a bother, so I'll make you anything you want, okay?"

Even though Nami was still sitting, the difference in altitude made her taller than he was and he felt the full weight of her judgmental eyes before she sighed and stood up. "No thanks."

Sanji's smile dropped. "Huh? But – "

"I don't want to be a bother," was all she said before disappearing into the library, and Sanji realized he had fucked up once again. After standing there in the middle of the stairway like a stray cat, he eventually trudged the rest of the way down, mired in a cycle of self-pity and self-hatred that blinded him to his surroundings, to the point where he passed by Brook and Zoro in the kitchen without even raising an eyebrow.

Brook and Zoro in the kitchen.

Brook and Zoro were in the kitchen.

Why the _fuck_ were Brook and Zoro in the kitchen.

Sanji turned around and saw the two frozen by the fridge door. Zoro was holding a sword threateningly close to the lock. Both of them were as wide-eyed as he was (though in Brook's case, he always looked rather wide-eyed even without eyes).

Even with his shaking hands, his face almost looked feral. "You've got three fucking seconds to get the fuck out of here before I crack your fucking sword-crazy heads like fucking eggs and use them as fucking bowls for the rest of your pathetic natural lives."

"I do not think I have a 'natural life' – "

Sanji's hand moved towards the knife rack and Brook was suddenly on the other side of the counter. There was only Zoro, now, and even he conceded enough to sheathe his sword.

"I just wanted some goddamn booze, alright?"

"And some milk," Brook added from the safety of the dining room.

"...Yeah." Zoro almost seemed embarrassed as he acknowledged Brook. "Milk and booze. Just crack open a bottle for me."

The request was bizarre enough that Sanji was too distracted to keep holding onto the knife, and he shoved it back in the box without looking. "What the fuck kind of combination is that."

"Well you see," Brook started when Zoro didn't respond, "I was conversing with Zoro-san about how milk is good for your bones, especially since he had just recently broken his ribs. And I suggested that he should have some to heal, but – "

"What the shit. Do you actually _hate_ your taste buds or something, marimo?"

"Shut up!" Zoro roared, his hand twitching for his swords, but thankfully for everybody involved, he managed to restrain himself. "I don't like milk!"

"What the hell made you think that combining milk with _beer_ would make it better?!"

"Well, if I like beer and I don't like milk, then combining them will just make it taste okay, right?!"

Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. He knew the goddamn swordsman was stupid, but he didn't even realize he was _that _stupid. How could it be possible for the already astonishingly stupid Zoro to keep _surprising_ him? Sanji staggered like he was physically punched and had to lean on a cabinet for support. "It's a miracle you even survived one second outside your parents' house."

Zoro's hand hesitated on his hilts. "Huh?"

"Get the fuck out of my kitchen before you contaminate it with your horrendous culinary sense."

"Well, if you just gave me what I wanted, then I – hey!" Zoro struggled and protested as Sanji shoved him out and shooed him away like a rat until the swordsman finally got the idea and just sat down at the counter and waited petulantly. "It's just a fucking _drink_," he muttered, glaring as Sanji started rolling up his sleeves. "I can fucking pour it myself, asshole."

"Right. Brook, you want some milk too?"

"That would be delightful, yes," the musician trilled. The two of them ignored Zoro's mumbling curses that were steadily growing more incomprehensible the longer he went on.

When Sanji only came back with the carton of milk, Zoro straightened with pure ire. "What the hell! Didn't I tell you to get booze too, fucking anal as shit cook!"

"Relax," Sanji sighed as he slid a glass over to the skeleton. "I don't feed poison even to an incorrigible bastard like you. I'm gonna heat this up."

"I already _told_ you, I _don't like milk._"

"And I can't believe I have to explain this to a grown-ass man, but _things taste different at different temperatures._" The milk was already to bubble a soothing tune in the pot and as Sanji kept stirring, he shuffled around in a nearby drawer for a ladle before scrounging in the spice rack for some nutmeg. "You'll probably like it a lot more than cold milk. It helps you sleep better; not that you need help with _that._"

"What the fuck is that," Zoro said, his eyes tracing Sanji's hand as it went for cinnamon and honey and started mixing it all into a paste.

"Just something to add to the flavor."

"_I just wanted milk._"

"No, you wanted milk mixed with some of your shitty grog. _This_ is what you mix milk with." And with a little bit of stirring together in a glass, Sanji set the frothing concoction in front of Zoro's irritated face. "_Voila_, a soothing drink to carry your mind to a wonderful place of sweet marimo dreams. Perhaps you'll remember your past life as a seaweed, waving carefree in the ocean currents."

"Shut up," Zoro hissed before downing it in one gulp. And with all the work he put into it, too.

Sanji leaned over to whisper to Brook. "Don't mind him, he gets all grumpy-wumpy when he doesn't nap."

"I will throw this glass at your head and I will _regret. Nothing._"

"Oh my, I see what you mean."

"_You fucking skeleton –_ "

"Whoops," Sanji drawled as he plucked the glass from Zoro's hand and quickly set it in the sink. "Don't throw a tantrum, or you won't get dessert later."

"_Fuck you,_" Zoro growled as venomously as he could before storming out. It might have been actually threatening if he hadn't been already stifling a yawn on his way through the door. Sanji managed to throw a disgusting sneer at his back before the door closed, and his face eased back into a scowl.

"Didn't even bother tasting it, huh?"

"Have you two been fighting recently?"

Sanji looked into Brook's hollow eyes and wished the human skull wasn't so passive. "News flash, Brook, we're kinda _always_ fighting."

"I am not referring to your usual fights. I meant something more serious."

Sanji winced as he thought about last night, his nose complaining at the memory. Brook shouldn't have been awake then, and it wasn't like he was around...and there hadn't been anything different about the past few minutes, right? "Why do you think so?"

Brook drained the rest of his glass and set it down with a gentle _click._ "Usually, Zoro-san doesn't walk out in the middle of a fight. It almost looked like he wanted to leave you as soon as possible."

Sanji frowned. That made a scary amount of sense. Scary, because understanding _anything_ about Zoro was grounds for concern. "What the fuck," he breathed out. "If anything, _I_ should be pissed off at _him._"

"So something _did_ happen?" Brook asked in an almost conspiratorial whisper.

"Y'know, I still got some of this spiced milk left over," Sanji said, already ladling some into Brook's empty glass, pouring slowly enough that none of it could drip outside the cup despite the way his hands shook. The skeleton said nothing after that.

The rest of the day was not as exhausting as that morning. True, he still had to make lunch and dinner, but that simply did not compare to the emotional barrage he had to endure. He supposed it was because once everybody was up, the entire ship became its usual, rowdy self and everybody was too distracted to harangue him about this or that (whether directly or implicitly). As Luffy somehow convinced Franky to build a cannon on the deck so that he could fire himself out of it into the sky for whatever bizarre reason, Sanji found himself actually _thanking_ him for being an uncontrollable wrecking ball even as he was part of the group that was shouting and cursing him out for being a _goddamn idiot._

After dinner, he volunteered for first watch again. Zoro glared at the nearby wall. Chopper glanced towards his braced nose and stuttered. Luffy just said, "Okay," looking like he would rather sleep.

"He managed to hurt himself last night," Nami pointed out, scowling at his usual careless leadership.

"I'll be careful."

"He says he'll be careful."

And that was that.

The crow's nest was as warm and comforting as always, even as it swayed in seemingly dangerous arcs across the ocean. The sky was looking cooperatively calm tonight. Everything was quiet. He might even allow himself to get rocked to sleep.

And then the hatch opened, allowing a perfectly groomed afro to squeeze through.

What's with it with swordsmen and interrupting him at night?

"Hey asshole, I got first watch."

"Oh, I realize that," Brook replied, weaving his spindly legs up after him and strolling up to where Sanji sprawled in his seat. "But you see, Robin-san told me you had accidentally left something in the library and so she sent me to deliver it." And after rummaging around in his hair, Brook drew out a tome – _Stories of the Sea._

So she didn't want to deliver it herself, huh? "Ha. Thanks, but I think I woulda preferred Robin-chan's wonderful visage 'stead of yours." Still, he gave a weary smile as he reached over for the book.

The skeleton stayed fidgeting by the hatch, weaving his long fingers around each other so that they clacked like maracas. "Actually, I must confess. I lied."

"Hm?"

Brook took a deep breath before rattling off, "Robin-san was about to bring it up herself, but I intercepted her and insisted onmakingthedeliveryinstead." Despite having no lungs, the skeleton had to lean over and take a breather, but he certainly looked less anxious after telling the truth. Sanji couldn't say he felt the same way.

His shoe hit Brook square in the eye socket, making him squeal as he flailed backwards in a very uncoordinated attempt to dislodge it. "What the _fuck,_" Sanji roared after his projectile, on his feet and looking like it was taking all of his being to stop himself from flinging the book as well. "What's the point of lying about it if you're gonna _wimp out_ and _tell the truth anyways?_ Go back down there and send Robin-chan up!"

"Do you actually want that?" Brook asked, clutching Sanji's shoe like a holy cross. Sanji bit his lip and gagged at the taste of Chopper's medicinal paste before lowering his arm.

"...Not really." He flumped back into his spot and pretended he was oozing into the chair itself. "Just gimme my goddamn shoe back and get out of here."

Brook did exactly half of that and Sanji scowled at the universe in general as the skeleton perched himself on the seat beside him, his too-long legs bent at an awkward angle.

Maybe if he didn't say anything, Brook would get the idea and stay silent.

"Are you not curious about why I wanted to come up here?"

"I'm _curious_ about why the fuck you're still _here._"

"It's because a little bird told me that you know death."

Sanji's next few ungrateful curses hitched in his throat and he whipped his head towards Brook in horror. The musician simply sat as stiffly as anybody might expect a regular skeleton to. And if it weren't for the way his fingers kept tap-tap-tapping against each other in his lap, he could have fooled anybody into thinking he was just that – a regular skeleton. With a ridiculous wig.

But the cook caught his second wind of rage and he fell to his feet and started marching towards the ladder. "Fucking marimo told you, didn't he? What the _hell_ I fucking thought that even _he'd_ realize that was a _private fucking conversation_ that _shitty asswipe_ I'm gonna – "

"Please," Brook said with his gentlemanly calm as he caught Sanji by the shoulder without even having to move. "He told no one else. Just me."

Sanji squinted at him. When the hell did fucking _Brook_ become their confidant? But, well, he _had_ proven himself to be able to keep secrets, so the cook grumbled back into his chosen seat. "So?"

Brook's legs crossed like a very peculiar arrangement of tree trunks. "Hearing that, I felt a new sense of kinship with you, I suppose. Like we were the same."

"God, I _hope _not, you panty pervert," Sanji mumbled. Brook seemed relatively unfazed by his blinding hypocrisy.

"So if it's alright with you, I would like to hear the story."

"It's not a big deal, I was just...I mean, I was exaggerating. Compared to a guy who _literally_ died, it's – "

"But it was a near-death experience, was it not?"

Sanji took in as much air as he could in his lungs and sifted it out through his nose. "Yeah," he said, with the weight of the entire ocean behind that one word. "Shipwreck. Got stranded on a shitty rock for eighty-five days. Almost starved to death. Kinda looked like you by the end of it," he finished with a wheezy chuckle. Brook didn't join in, and so the joke simply tripped into an early grave.

"And you were the only survivor?"

Brook's voice sounded like he should be able to see it, a wisp of chilling death floating to the heavens before evaporating in the atmosphere. Everything felt too heavy to properly sit up straight, so Sanji leaned heavily on his knees and pretended there was a cigarette in his mouth. "Nah. There was a shitty pirate. Some geezer who only met me when the storm hit." No jokes. There was nothing funny about this part anyways. Sanji's voice automatically lowered into a husky whisper.

"Did he do something?"

"Yeah." This would be the part where he would inhale a fortifying amount of smoke, if he had any to begin with. Without it, he ended up faltering. The altitude suddenly seemed too much. He held his head and tried to get it to stop.

"...I see."

"No, hang on. I don't want you to get the wrong idea. Gimme a minute."

He was given two.

When his breath stopped rattling through his teeth, Sanji could raise his head again and actually look straight ahead. "He gave me all the food we had and ended up eating his own leg."

Even though he had wound up mumbling in his own hand, the confession sounded like a gunshot. Felt like it too, a musket ball rolling around in his gut and pulling him all the way back to the East Blue, back to that one odd restaurant on the sea.

Brook spared him the pain of his hollow stare and all Sanji could see of him was his voluminous hair. His fingers continued clacking.

"It's not a very pleasant feeling," Brook commented. Sanji didn't even have to ask what he meant.

"Yeah, well. Both of us got through it."

"Are you sure?"

Sanji could only answer with a sigh and a stretch of his legs.

"In truth," Brook continued, his soft voice dropping the sing-song quality it usually had, "all of you certainly saved me from my loneliness. And yet. Sometimes, my mind is still haunted by the same thoughts that plagued me consistently throughout those fifty years."

_Why me?_

Why did this have to happen to me? Why do I have to lose the people around me? Why do people have to sacrifice for me? Why do I have to live in a world that shoulders all these burdens onto me? Why did you do that for me, how could I possibly make it up in my lifetime, what did I even do to deserve life when I should have died?

Why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why _why_

"In situations like ours, it's hard not to evaluate our own worth. Isn't it?"

Sanji, now curled up with his chin in his arms, could only shrug. "I guess."

At some point, Brook had stopped tapping his fingers together. The tiny bones were now entangled in a tight clasp, like an elaborate puzzle piece. Whatever it was that held them together threatened to fail under the stress. "I honestly would have given anything to give everybody else my power. If we could have somehow shared it..."

After a moment of silence, Brook gave up on trying to sit normally on a bench that didn't take his height into consideration and allowed his legs to splay outward. It could just be Sanji's imagination, but it looked like they spanned almost the whole length of the floor.

"Not only that, but as long as my soul remains here, nobody else can ever have the same power. Consider how many leaders could be assassinated right now, either kind kings or righteous rebels. And yet a pirate like me happened to miraculously chance upon a second life, perhaps even immortality. Is this not selfish, in some respects?"

He almost felt guilty about how comfortingly familiar Brook's words were; at least in spirit. In this one solitary moment, alone together on a slumbering ship, Sanji felt hopelessly in tune with the damn skeleton. And so when Brook finally asked the question he knew was coming, "Is that why you throw yourself in front of others with no regard to yourself?" there was only one way that Sanji could respond.

"Yeah."

He sucked in a breath and felt his insides ache with the absence of that all-obscuring fog. How did other people _not_ smoke? How did normal people steel themselves against the harsh world without that useful crutch? He would sometimes get unbelieving exclamations about how he could stand dirtying up his lungs like that, but anybody who _didn't_ smoke were the oddity – or maybe really lucky.

"I wonder if I should do the same."

"Don't," Sanji shot out desperately before he could even properly think the word. When his vision cleared, he found his hand clutching onto Brook's shoulder, so hard that it started shaking again. He could have accidentally snapped his collarbone if it weren't for Brook's haunting face looking right at him, freezing him right there. With the solemn conversation that came before, all Sanji could think about was his own sallow face he saw in passing in the reflections of rainwater puddles, his own hollow cheeks, his own sunken eyes; opening his mouth, he had half-expected his heart to fall out with the way every beat rattled his rib cage, as though it had broken free of its tethers and was ready to fly out given the chance.

Sanji pushed himself away, had to bolt to his feet and pace, had to look down at every step he took, had to hold a hand to his mouth like a muzzle. Couldn't look at Brook. Not now.

"But the same reasoning you use also applies to me, does it not?"

"No," he choked out. "Shut the fuck up. Don't do this."

"After being so lucky as to survive the first time due to the sacrifice of others – "

Sanji's pacing increased until he reached the other side of the crow's nest and kicked the wall hard enough to shake the whole room. "Don't _fucking_ do this to me, Brook!_"_

" – why should we deserve to live again if another should die?"

Another kick. Zoro's weights rattled off their racks and started rolling around. "How long've you been in the crew, huh?! You don't have the _right!"_

Brook had the face of death. It was always easy to forget that, behind the cheap, novelty sunglasses and the shitty feather boas, but he had always had the face of death and it was absolutely chilling, permeating the very tone of his voice, filling his being until he embodied death in every way. Brook opened his mouth and the air dropped below freezing.

"Tell me one reason why I should not apply your philosophy to my own life."

The third kick missed and Sanji ended up unbalancing and hitting his head. "_Fuck!_ Why does _every single fucker_ under the ass-blistering _sun_ gotta fucking mess with my fucking _head_ all of a sudden, huh?!" His head was ringing too loudly for him to properly see, but he could still discern the blurry shape of Brook, still lounging in his seat across the way and so he aimed his spittle at that general direction. "Getting your fucking kicks _psychoanalyzing _me, jackass?! You having _fun_ over there, turning my own shitty logic against me?!"

"That is not logic, that is guilt," Brook intoned calmly. Sanji continued to curse as he tripped over one of Zoro's fucking dumbbells and got himself entangled in the disheveled rack. "Please tell me, what is the difference between us that gives you the right to rush recklessly towards your death but prevents me from doing the same, despite the same reasoning applying to us both?"

Sanji gave up on his struggle, wilting into the rungs of the weight rack like it was his new home, and focused blindly on bellowing out everything he had towards the skeleton instead. "Fucking _Laboon,_ asshole! You're over halfway there, you can't just fucking _die_ before keeping your fucking _promise!_"

"So?" Brook replied, and his tone was so mild that Sanji had to laugh.

"_So,_ he's been fucking _waiting!_ Y'know something? Back then, I fucking said that the people he was waiting for already died and were never coming back – and okay, maybe half of that was true, but don't you want to fucking _prove me wrong?"_

"You are avoiding the question. That is not a difference."

"I don't even fucking know what the hell you're fucking on about," Sanji moaned into his hands. "Fucking, go away. _Leave me alone._"

"I may have unfinished business, but so do you. You have yet to find the All Blue. And you don't seem to view that as reason to stop risking your life for the sake of others."

Sanji took a deep breath and said, "You milkfucking dinosaur son of a fuck." When he heard nothing in reply, he tried raising his head to look and ended up dislodging another barbell. It clattered like an elongated exclamation point and rolled off into an ellipses. Sanji started the next sentence with a sigh.

"When a dreamer dies before reaching their goal, it's a tragedy," he explained with tired gestures to the ceiling. "When a fool dies following around some story, it's a comedy."

"You have doubts about the All Blue?"

"_Fuck_ no," Sanji spat as energetically as he did when he was a kid. "It exists. But _you _have a location to go to. I just hopped aboard in case we ran into it. And how fucking likely do you think _that_ is, in a sea as huge as this? Coulda even passed it long ago – how the fuck would I even know? Could be underneath us right now and I wouldn't be able to tell."

For a long while, Brook said nothing. Sanji almost thought the skeleton had left, until two bony hands reached down and threaded him out of the rack. Once he was free, Sanji simply collapsed onto one of the bars again, but Brook gently took his far shoulder and guided his head to his side. It was extremely awkward, given that ribs jutting into his ear wasn't Sanji's idea of comfort, but it was certainly better than the shitty mosshead's shitty weights. He allowed himself to sink into the embrace.

"Have you never told this to anyone?"

"No," Sanji shuddered out, picking at his bandages and the blisters underneath. Brook grabbed onto his wrist with chilling fingers and led it to where his other hand was too tired to follow.

"You should talk to someone. It does not have to be me, but...please consider airing out these thoughts to someone you're comfortable with. You are not alone, after all."

Sanji watched with half-lidded eyes as his free hand opened and closed clumsily, making something akin to a fist.

"For what it's worth, I think your death would be a tragedy."

"Not as much as – "

"No," Brook interrupted firmly, his fingers enveloping Sanji's burned hand. "A tragedy is a tragedy."


	8. Sanji's Day

"May I talk with you?"

Sanji braced himself for the answer, but it was almost as bad as he feared.

"Of course," Robin said with a smile before opening the library door wider to allow him in. Sanji squeezed through with a tray clutched tight in his hands. There was a single mug of coffee balanced on it, which rippled with tension as he strode in and set it down on the nearest bench. Robin joined him after shutting the door and they sat with the faint steam from the coffee wafting between them.

Sanji nodded towards the cup. "Made it for you."

"What would you like to talk about?" Robin asked as she took the cup in her hands.

He hadn't thought that far. "Um," he said, staring at his hands clasped between his knees. One of them started to jitter. "I dunno...I mean...well..."

"Take your time."

Sanji sighed once, twice, mind fumbling for the ugly thoughts that had occupied it for too long and coming up with nothing. All those thoughts were nothing. It was silly to come here in the first place. He was just being a bother. What did he have to say for himself?

"I'm sorry for running away yesterday. I...didn't mean to. It was pretty shitty of me."

"It's alright. Did my words upset you?"

Sanji had to laugh because what a question, right? What kind of normal shitty human being would be upset by such a sincere affirmation of their own existence? "I dunno," he repeated, leaning forward on an arm and rubbing his forehead. "Fucking...I just..._shit._ I dunno."

Silence passed as Robin took the opportunity to relish her drink. Sanji continued watching the floor.

"I talked with Brook last night."

"What about?"

"Some real fucked up shit," Sanji replied, and all the words that had been lost to him were pouring out now, his past (with more details than Brook ever got), his worthless life, his philosophy based on death, all the things that had been forcibly dragged out of his tender guts before. And Robin sat through it all, calmly weathering all the shit he threw at her, sipping her coffee with a silent grace that didn't quite fit the bloody words in the air.

"It can be very confusing for a child," she said when Sanji's shuddering died down, "to suddenly be saddled with a daunting, lifelong obligation."

Somewhere in his hands, Sanji chuckled. "You understand me too well."

"Only because I believe we are rather similar." Oh _god_ he hoped not. For Robin to liken herself to _him_ would only be an insult to _her. _"Do you feel better?"

"I dunno," he said, surprising himself. "I dunno...I'm just..." With no more words to support himself, Sanji just slumped where he sat, throwing his head back over the back of the bench. He tried to think, tried to think _hard,_ because time was passing and he was keeping someone _waiting_ and he should be _smarter_ than this, right? "I'm wasting your time," he breathed out with a muted sort of horror and rubbed at his eyes again.

"I assure you, you're not." And Sanji was not someone who would accuse a woman of lying, but sometimes Robin could be too kind. "Relax. Tell me; what sort of person do you want to be?"

"Happy," he rattled out from the back of his throat. His neck was starting to complain about the way he was craning it, but whatever.

"Don't we all."

"It's just these shitty hands," he tried, but not hard enough to sit up straight. "When they get their damn act together, then I'll be better."

"If you don't mind me saying so, I think it would be more like you'll _pretend_ to be better."

"Yeah," Sanji admitted, and it was a lot easier to when he was staring mindlessly at the ceiling instead of staring at Robin's face. Out of sight, out of mind, huh? "You _really_ fucking understand me too well."

"You don't become an assassin without a keen insight into the human condition," Robin replied smoothly, stirring the remains of her coffee without so much as a clink. "Why are you not happy?"

"Maybe I'm just a naturally miserable person."

Robin didn't answer that, and in the silence, Sanji was forced to think the question over a little longer. He sighed through his nose and winced against the brace. Christ, did Zoro really have to punch so _hard?_

"It's because I always think all this bad shit, that's why," he explained, twirling a lanky hand in the air above his bowed head. "Like fucking...everybody dying and shit, but that they'll all survive if I die instead, like that's the best possible outcome. _Shit,_ that sounds messed up. That's messed up, right? Oh my _god_ that's messed up."

Robin set her cup back down on the silver tray and folded her hands on her lap. Her expression was indiscernible, mostly because Sanji still wasn't looking. "Are you saying that you don't actually believe that?"

"It's like..._shit._" It was _completely _un-gentlemanly, but Sanji brought his feet up and curled into his legs, letting out a sound that was a cross between a pot boiling over and a zombie greeting the rising sun. "I don't even _know._ I _don't_ believe it, but like. I do? _Fuck._" His fingers were weaving their way through his bangs now, twisting and pulling like a cat's cradle. He took a deep breath.

Another.

"Just...it's like...I feel, like, when all this good shit happens, like, all the bad shit is piling up or something. And it'll jump us, and...does that make sense?"

He could feel a gentle, warm hand on his back, kneading his shoulders, rubbing circles around his spine. It was a hand that was used to snapping necks, but for now, it was support. "I don't think anybody would consider your injuries a 'good thing.'"

"It didn't happen to anyone else," Sanji retorted before muffling a wry chuckle. "_Shit_ I'm stupid. I just _said..._"

But Robin didn't remove her hand, just continued pressing rhythmically in a soothing massage, and Sanji sank into her touch. "I'm just glad that you have acknowledged that this thought process is unhealthy."

"Hard not to, when everybody keeps saying so."

"I do not think you're any less intelligent for thinking this way."

"It's pretty stupid, though."

"No, it's unhealthy," Robin reminded, using her free hand to move the tray aside and close the space between them. Sanji uncurled, breathing in the smell of fertile dirt and delphiniums as his head was guided to her shoulder. Her long hair tickled at his eyes and he tried not to blink because if he did, the tears might start. He was _not_ about to gunk up Robin's clothes on top of everything else.

"This is what I think," Robin began again, her arms trailing towards his wrists and settling them away from his hair, "and you can correct me if you think I am wrong. You have persistent intrusive thoughts concerning the well-being of the crew; that joining has been the best thing that has ever happened to you and because of that, a disaster will befall it. Some part of you believes that you don't deserve this much happiness.

"You try to repay the good in your life to stave off the bad. Sometimes this means making up favors that you owe to others, sometimes this means putting your life on the line. Getting yourself severely injured becomes a 'good thing' because that means that nobody else was injured in your place – but because it's a 'good thing,' it raises your debt and you become even more anxious about the disaster that certainly must be looming, causing you to jump in front of anybody who you believe is in the most danger and getting yourself injured even more. What do you think?"

Her arms were still around him, and in any other circumstances he'd probably be swooning, but instead he just felt a little pathetic. "That feels pretty damn accurate."

"Did Sabaody make it worse?" she murmured, her refined voice a gentle breeze.

"Maybe."

"Are you willing to come and tell me more about these thoughts you have?"

Something about the way she said that made Sanji finally look up at her, eyes wandering up her chin, her mouth, her nose – but no further than that. "What, like...therapy?"

"I admit I am not experienced in this particular field of study, but I believe I share the same experiences, and this library is soundproof. Nobody will know about what we talk about unless you permit it. It may take a while, but I do believe this will help you mentally and emotionally."

Sanji looked down again at her hands around his, but didn't pull away. "You really wanna hear all my shit?"

"This crew was the one that made me believe my existence was not a crime. Seeing a part of it still suffering under that same assumption, I cannot help but offer aid."

Her voice was gray, heavy with stormy seas and the grief of drowned sailors, and it was flattering that someone would grieve for him specifically. He almost would have said that he didn't deserve it, but then again, that's the thing he was trying to fix, wasn't it?

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."

He could _hear_ the smile that Robin made. "That makes me happy."

"Will it actually work for me?"

"I am certain it will help. I just hope that we won't need to storm a purportedly inescapable island in order to prove it to you."

At that, Sanji couldn't help but laugh.

And so, another edit was made to his already unusual schedule. Every morning, after breakfast, Sanji would make a refreshing beverage and knock on the door to the library, where Robin would be waiting, and then he would talk about whatever shit happened to be on his mind and Robin would, in turn, ask questions about this or that, sometimes probing, sometimes clarifying. If the rest of the crew noticed his more frequent visits to the library, they didn't mention it (or, in the case of certain dull-headed morons, they just didn't care). But never once had these private meetings ever been interrupted.

"You know, I do find myself rather curious about your attitudes towards women," Robin stated during a lull in his rambles.

That was enough to get Sanji to raise his head and look at her. "Huh? What about that?"

Robin raised an eyebrow as she drained the rest of her drink – a sweetly-sour cocktail of some sort that rattled with ice. "You don't find your compulsive devotion towards women odd?"

"Well, I mean – _sure,_ it's not _common,_ but – "

Sanji couldn't bring himself to feel insulted at Robin's tiny chuckle, and so instead he could only fume in his own flustered embarrassment. "I can't help but wonder about what motivates you to act the way you do. Is it alright if we talk about this today?"

"Not sure there's much to talk about," Sanji replied with a lazy shrug. "It kinda comes natural to me at this point."

"Then let us unpack what you feel is 'normal' about it."

Sanji felt a wide grin spreading across his face as he stared at Robin, taking in her professional airs, her perfectly tied hair, her cute-as-shit skirt. Sure, she was beautiful, but as someone who prided himself on maintaining a certain appearance, he couldn't help but admire just how _put-together _she looked at all times. Her intelligence, her maturity, even just the calm intonations of her voice consistently made his heart flutter in his throat. Not just because he was smitten, but because _shit. _How the fuck did they _ever _get lucky enough to run into such a perfect woman in spite of the vast ocean?

When she inclined her head questioningly, he said, "Y'know Robin-chan, you said you didn't know shit about psychology, but you're like a fucking _natural._"

She took the vulgar compliment with a smile. "Perhaps you could say there is some overlap with archeology and some overlap with assassination. You need to understand a lot about people in order to understand ancient cultures or get close enough to someone in order to kill them." Even the way she spoke about killing people so casually was absolutely radiant and he had to suppress a sigh. "So why did you feel the need to say that?"

Sanji blinked and straightened up in his seat, trying to wave away the fog invading his mind. "Well, it's true."

"Even so, you wouldn't necessarily be inclined to give such a straightforward compliment to a man, would you?"

Brief images of several alternate realities flashed in Sanji's mind, realities in which Usopp was in place of Robin, or Franky, or Brook or fucking _Zoro,_ and the fog recoiled in horror. "_Absolutely not._"

"Even if they would have been as good as me?"

"_First_ of all," Sanji pressed, leaning forward with a raised finger, "_none_ of those shitheads would be _halfway_ good as you because they're idiots and if they were here instead of you I would rather throw myself overboard than talk to them."

"And second?"

Sanji brandished another finger and looked at it for a few seconds. "That's it, really."

"So why did you want to compliment me?"

A soft hum vibrated from Sanji's throat as he picked at his goatee. "I just thought you should know that you're doing pretty damn alright in my book, even if you're not some fancy psychologist or whatever."

"A gesture of assurance, then."

"Yeah, sure."

"I never considered such gestures to be gender-specific, though."

"Well, y'know," Sanji replied, leaning back and waving a hand grandiosely, "it's not like I enjoy the company of men, so fuck 'em."

"That seems needlessly harsh," Robin commented, though she couldn't hide her smile at his brash declaration.

"You know the other assholes on this ship as well as I do – they're rude and rowdy as shit. Compare that to all the ladies of the world, who are perfect and wonderful as shit." After pretending to weigh the two different kind of shits with his hands, Sanji gave Robin a matter-of-fact stare. "See where I'm coming from?"

"You're saying that you care more about women than men on the basis of some value judgment."

"_Hell _yeah," Sanji said as seriously as he could manage, steadily growing more animated now that they were on his favorite topic. "Women are just so _beautiful_ and their _hair_ and their _clothes_ and _shit, _they're just so _perfect_ and I love _all of them._"

"Nami seems to get rather rowdy sometimes, especially while drinking."

"But she's so _perfect_ at it," Sanji insisted, never one to be deterred by logic, at least in cases like this. "I just want every woman in the world to know that they're loved."

"By you?" And Sanji nodded like a balloon, his eyes focused on some fluffy, far-off daydream.

Robin stared at something more grounded, one of the bookshelves that surrounded them, and said, "That is rather ridiculous."

"It is," he admitted, even as lost as he was in the fog of romanticism.

"If men are not as inherently perfect as women are, does that include you?"

"But _of course,_ how could I ever even _think_ of comparing myself to such glowing _angels – "_

"Sanji," Robin said, and leveled a 'you were doing _so well'_ stare at him. He struggled to tether his mind to something resembling reality.

"Yeah," he said.

Robin stirred at the ice remaining in her glass with the straw. "The things you say contradict the things you do. From what I've seen, you care about _everybody –_ perhaps not as equally as you could, but nevertheless."

"I didn't say – " Sanji frowned, paused, rewound the conversation to double check, and started again: "I didn't say that I _didn't_ give a shit about guys."

"Only heavily implied it."

Okay, he'd give her that.

"When you attempted to fend off Roulette, you pushed away both Nami _and_ Usopp. You were concerned for _both_ of them."

"Yeah, well," Sanji mumbled, slumping backwards and glancing towards the nearby window, "Usopp's a fucking lightweight, he'd just, I dunno, hide somewhere, so – "

"Masculine posturing will earn nothing but my disdain, Sanji. Try not to lie to me here. You're not very good at it, in any case."

Sanji flushed like a sunburn, but nodded anyways.

"Besides, back on Sabaody, you left behind Nami in order to aid the group that was in the most danger at the time – a group that happened to have no females. So I think you would agree that it is not the case that you overwhelmingly care more about women than men. You are simply more vocal about one over the other."

"Does that bother you?"

Robin answered with one of her rare frowns. "Truthfully, your worship of women concerns me and I would like to disabuse you of it for various reasons. Most of them have to do with other issues, but it also has to do with your self-worth."

It felt a little cheesy, having it being said so directly, and Sanji fiddled with his bandages again. This was what he was here for. He was here to figure out how to not have shitty thoughts all the time and be happy. Robin understood, she was helping, she wasn't judging him or whatever the shit he kept thinking about whenever their conversations turned towards things like this. Shut the fuck up, brain.

"They're related?"

"You claim to view women as infinitely superior, but you care for men despite that. I can't help but feel that your views on the hierarchy of humankind only serves to further lower your own worth in the eyes of this sort of logic. Thus, both men and women alike will benefit from your kindness, and the only one who won't is you because of a false belief that you are simply worth less."

Erudite as always, he couldn't help but muse. "It's just the principle of the matter," he said, not entirely sure what he was arguing against or even how he was going to argue against it. "I just want to treat ladies nicely, like any gentleman should."

"There are ways to treat others nicely without demeaning yourself in the process. To be kind is not necessarily to allow yourself to be used, Sanji." Robin set her empty glass back on the tray with a stern _clink._ "Why do you make drinks for me whenever we talk?"

It was not a question he had been expecting, and so he stammered with twitching hands before coherently responding, "I just...it's natural, isn't it? Since you're doing this for me..."

"What would happen if you _didn't_ make a drink?"

"I couldn't," he said, his face twisted with the horror of imaginary anxiety.

"Try," she said, and she smiled once more. "There is nothing to worry about. I will not think less of you. You won't fail whatever deity or cosmic law you adhere to. Just consider that perhaps you are not obligated to make me anything."

When Sanji knocked on the door the next day, he bore a tray with two drinks.

Robin glanced from the two tall glasses to Sanji's guiltily hopeful face and said, "It's a start."

The next few days were devoted to convincing him to come empty-handed. It was as easy as convincing the ocean to calm. As much as Robin laid out her arguments and as much as he agreed, and even agreed with his mind rather than just his heart, he continued bringing drinks.

"Life is not a series of transactions," Robin tried again, and Sanji tried not to be too distracted by how she didn't even touch the glass this time. "There is no need for you to pay for my time when I do this out of my own free will and out of my own concern for you."

"If I bring one for myself, then it's fine, right? We're just sharing drinks."

Robin leveled a very unimpressed stare at him and gestured at his own untouched glass. "You simply use that as an excuse to continue pampering me."

"...Yeah."

"You realize that I do not consider you a bother, correct? If I did, then that would imply that we are not the close friends I consider us to be."

Sanji's heart burned with the love of a crew he was far too lucky to have found himself in. "Yeah."

"Are you really content with constantly counting your blessings like a debt you have to repay?"

It was nothing to be content _with._ It was a law of the universe, it was morality, it was an _obligation._ He cooked. He served what he cooked. He bought his place on this ship with what he cooked. He bought smiles and friendship and _everything_ with what he cooked.

"I just want everybody to be happy."

And Robin reached over to clasp his hands and he wished he could feel how smooth they were, how small and strong. "We already are. There is nothing extra you have to do."

That was wrong, he couldn't think of it as anything other than wrong. It was a sentiment that left jagged edges in his heart and resonated discordantly with his mind. It was something that his very being could do nothing but reject.

"Will you promise to try to come empty-handed next time?" Robin asked.

He promised.

When he greeted Robin the next day with hands in his pockets, she gave him a smile that was almost worth it. He spent the entire session fiddling with the strings of his hoodie and asking her if she was really alright without a beverage, and she spent the entire session patiently assuring him that she was, and she was very proud that he had managed to do what she had asked. He was really improving, it's hard to unlearn unhealthy habits but he was doing it, and whenever he felt anxious she would be there to remind him that there was no need to prove his own worth to anybody.

It was rather mothering of her, to the point of embarrassment, but Sanji allowed himself this indulgence. Only once, though.

"We'll be docking at the next island soon," Robin commented after a few days. "Are you planning on taking a bit of shore leave while we're there?"

"Even a seaman's gotta stretch his legs,"said Sanji, leaning out and crossing his feet at the ankles. "Now that I don't have some shitty cane or casts or shit, I can actually do the groceries myself! Any longer, and I might fucking forget how to do it."

He could feel Robin's thoughtful gaze rubbing against his neck. Her examinations were never physical, but he could feel it all the same, like velvet cloth being wrapped around him or like feathers raining from above; it was just so physically non-physical that it couldn't be anything but thorough, and it was pretty comforting to know that someone was there to take in his essence and analyze it, immortalize it in a place other than himself.

"I think today, I would like you to try something different."

"What, about groceries?"

"No," Robin replied, allowing a quick smile before sharpening her eyes again. "Today, whenever someone gives you a gift, or in any way does a favor for you, I would like you to simply thank them and go no further."

Sanji opened his mouth, frowned, closed it again.

"That means no special drinks," Robin reminded, a chuckle finding its way back in her voice once more.

"No presents?"

"Not even an emotional declaration of your love." Her mouth twitched into a knowing smirk for the briefest of moments. Sanji winced, already seeing a lot of lip-biting in the near future.

"Do you think you can do it?"

"It's gonna feel weird," he admitted, already chewing on his cheek at the thought of it. "I mean, I get _why,_ it's just...I don't wanna look _ungrateful_ or anything."

"But you would be thanking them," Robin pointed out, and the obvious answer was that _it wasn't good enough, grand enough, grateful enough_ but then again, nothing ever was for him. Instead, he looked at the drink that he didn't bring and the tray that wasn't there and smoked a cigarette that he didn't have.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll do it." And he left with his head buzzing and the feeling of something nipping at his heels.

A glance at the sun hanging in the sky told him that he should hurry if he wanted to make the most of his remaining free time, and so he opted to take the stairs all at once by simply jumping from one landing to the other before ducking into the infirmary.

The usual smell of herbs and fur greeted him, and it was pretty damn lucky none of them were allergic to reindeer or something. Chopper spun around in his chair, hastily shoving a drawer closed with one of his feet. Which was apparently a mistake, as the next second found him curled up on the floor, leaking tears of pain.

Sanji stepped forward. "Uh, do you need help?"

Chopper raised a hoof to halt him and hissed out, "I'm okay, I'm okay." He stood up with a smile, but some bureaucratic mishap had turned it into a hybrid of a grimace and animalistic aggression. Sanji decided to drop the matter.

"So what are you here for?" Chopper asked, regaining something akin to normal human speech, with minimal wheezing. Sanji unpocketed a hand and aimed it like a lethargic rocket towards his nose and the brace still around it. Chopper had to squint to see that far up, but once he discerned what he was looking at, he jumped into a frenzy of "Oh my gosh, that's right, I forgot, how could I forget, I'm sorry Sanji, I can't _believe_" before the cook finally put a stop to it by picking him up by his hat and plopping him on top of his desk.

"Don't worry about it. Just take it off." And that's exactly what Chopper did, with no real pomp.

Sanji straightened up, pinching at his newly-freed nose, and Chopper asked, "Does it still hurt? Does anything feel out of place?"

"Nah, I just feel like I can finally smell again." He held out his left arm but still continued tweaking his nose until Chopper threatened to smack him with a nearby IV stand.

The bandages took a little longer than the nose brace, mostly because Chopper still wanted to be careful to not irritate any scars even if his hand had already healed over for the most part. His palm had steadily become something he could actually look at over time, but it was still blotchy with some parts baby-white with inexperience and others an angry, wrinkly red that he wished he could wash off. Maybe he could wear gloves for a while. Did he have gloves? Maybe he could buy gloves on the island.

"It looks like it's healed nicely," Chopper said, thus winning the award for the most optimistic lie of the year. "No more blisters that I can see, anyways. I don't think you need bandages anymore. But make sure to not pick at your hand, okay? And if you notice anything wrong about it, come back to me."

Sanji wasn't sure how he was going to pick at his hand in the first place if he couldn't feel anything, and it already looked pretty damn wrong, but he still said, "Sure" and was done with it. But before he could move to the back door and into the dining room, Chopper grabbed onto his baggy sleeve with a strong grasp that he never expected from a hoof.

"Hey, Sanji? How are you feeling without your cigarettes?"

What a fucking question! But Sanji couldn't bring himself to snap at those wide eyes peering up at him. "It's," he started, but had to pause to rub a hand down his face, "It's...manageable. A lot better than in the beginning. Fucking sucks, though. I'd rather not be reminded about it." He already didn't have any trouble reminding himself, after all.

Chopper nodded and said in his eternally child-like voice, "Nicotine withdrawal symptoms tend to dissipate after a week or so. However, I understand that cravings can still persist, especially with someone who is as habitual as you are – so I thought I would suggest some replacements in order to help you for the remaining months of your recovery."

Sanji raised an eyebrow. "And then maybe I could quit for good, huh?"

"W-well, I mean...if you actually _stopped..._that'd be..." Yup. Right on the mark. Chopper had the poker face of...well, of Luffy.

"Sure, okay," Sanji said, turning around and leaning against Chopper's desk. "What's the plan, doc?"

Chopper seemed a bit unprepared at his acquiescence, as he babbled a little, looked around like he had lost something, and then found it in the desk drawer he had closed earlier. Sanji's eyebrow raised even more at the sight of a sea of brightly-wrapped confectioneries. The whole mess made an unholy crinkling sound as Chopper's hooves dove in and came up with a pile of teeth-rotting treats that, for reasons Sanji didn't quite understand, were now being shoved under his nose like he was a fucking expert on fucking manufactured goods.

"I thought you could maybe try chewing some gum? Channeling your addictive desires into a different repetitive action would help, I've heard. Or maybe try lollipops! They look a little like cigarettes, I think. You can just leave it in your mouth like one, and – okay, maybe you can't talk without taking it out...I dunno...but it's worth a shot, right?"

Sanji squinted at the rainbow that Chopper was offering. There were more brands than he could even count, with even more numerous flavors, and fuck, was that a _Devil Fruit_ flavor? Who was the shithead who came up with _that_ idea? Still, glancing at the open drawer behind Chopper, this wasn't even a _dent_ in his collection. He nodded his head over to the rest of the candy. "That your secret candy stash?"

Chopper ducked his head under the brim of his hat. "Y-yeah...I haven't really told everybody about it..."

Sanji raised a hand to his mouth and was reminded once again that there wasn't actually a cigarette there. "Y'know, as a cook, I gotta say that I hope you're consuming that at a _responsible_ rate. That shit's unhealthy if you eat too much, and if you ever lose your appetite before a meal 'cause you can't control yourself, I'm gonna kick your antlers off and use them as a knife-holder."

"Says the chain-smoker," Chopper mumbled.

"_But,_" Sanji continued, his hands cooperating enough to pick out a few of the errant lollipops and sticks of gum from Chopper's hooves, "as a patient, I find it very sweet of you that you'd share your candy with me." And he straightened up with a wink as he slipped everything into his pockets and ruffled the top of Chopper's hat.

"Aww shaddup, you! I'm just doing my job~!" was all Sanji heard before he made his way into the dining room with a cheerful wave.

Usopp was already in the kitchen, which was pretty damn punctual of him, and he was talking animatedly over the counter to Franky, who still looked ridiculous perched on that stool. They noticed him at approximately the same time and both of them waved and shouted at him as though he _wasn't _in the goddamn room already.

"Usopp, stop before you knock something over. What're you idiots so excited about?" With a few strides of his long legs, he found his answer soon enough in the form of some shitty metal thing that Franky was holding up. It had a thick handle and a thin protrusion that pointed straight up like a fuck you to the world. There was a slit in the middle of it that went lengthwise, and it was curved like a sphere that was cut in half.

"It's a peeler," Franky explained. It sounded like Sanji was supposed to understand everything from that, but he could only stare blankly. Franky mimed holding a carrot and slid the peeler up and down on its imaginary surface.

Sanji's face immediately smoothed itself out with the blessing of realization. "Ohhh."

"C'mon, you gotta try it!" Usopp spouted from his side of the counter, leaning over so far that he couldn't even be considered in the kitchen anymore.

Sanji shrugged uncomfortably, fingering one of the wrapped candies in his pockets. "I...wasn't actually thinking about peeling anything for lunch – "

"_Change the menu,_" Franky bellowed, before shrinking away from the cook's glare. "I mean, if you want, not that you have to, you're the cook, bro."

Sanji ran a hand through his hair and sighed through his nose. "You guys are real shitheads, y'know that? I can make...apple sauce or something."

The way they reacted, it was like he told them he was serving their favorite foods forever. Franky almost stabbed him trying to get the peeler in his hands and Usopp ran out just to push him into the kitchen, something that really didn't need to be done. After scouring the pantry for some apples and leftover lemon peels and bringing out a pot, Sanji stood at the cutting board with an apple in one hand and the mysterious peeler in the other. "So how does this work?"

"Just do the sorta thing you do with the knife, bro!" Franky cheered from where he sat. Usopp was practically perched over his shoulder, the tip of his nose proving itself to be very distracting from Sanji's point of view. The cook turned the contraption over in his hand, set it on the surface of the fruit the way that Usopp indicated, and pressed down.

It was a bit of a trial getting his arms to balance out their pressure so that the peeler would bite into the skin but the apple wouldn't flinch and dip in response. He expected some troubles himself, but he had to reassure the two hovering assholes that no, the invention _wasn't_ a bust, he just still had shitty hands, did you really forget that?

But once the peeler got going. Oh _man._

It glided in ways that knives didn't. It was impossible to make the peel too thick, but it was completely possible to make the peel the thinnest he had ever done in his life. And once he started, it felt like he had never done it any other way.

"Okay. I admit it. I don't think I can ever peel with a knife again," he said, twelve peeled apples later. He let Usopp and Franky have their high-five before kicking the sniper in the shin and reminding him that he was supposed to help cook lunch. Now that he had cornered himself into making apple sauce, Sanji started boiling the water and slicing up the apples into smaller chunks, reluctantly leaving the peeler aside for another time.

Even so, he couldn't help but pelt Franky with questions like did he have to sharpen it, what exactly could he peel with it, was there anything safety-wise he should know about? Franky answered everything with his typical excitable ease, explaining the design and the physics behind it while boasting about how in a pinch, you could probably hurt someone _real bad_ with it, which Sanji promptly ignored.

"If you're real careful, bro, you can even peel a tomato!"

"You fucking moron," Sanji said over a simmering sauce. "You don't _need_ to peel tomatoes."

"Well now you _can,"_ Franky retorted, and Sanji decided to be nice enough not to mention that he wasn't going to fucking use some new toy for a job that he could probably do with his hands.

Instead he said, "Thanks," and quietly bustled around in a pleasant daze for a few minutes before coming to a different realization. "I'm surprised that you got this right on the first try, actually."

"Weeeelll," Franky drew out, suddenly busy tapping his fingers together, "that wasn't the first try."

Sanji squinted from behind the steam, taking out a large bowl and pouring the sauce into it before taking out a potato masher. "Wait. How were you doing your testing? How'd you figure it out without asking me for – " The rest of the words collided in a failed conga line and he had to set everything down for a moment.

To Usopp's credit, he looked a _little_ ashamed when Sanji whirled around and glared at him working on his shitty grilled fish. But definitely not ashamed enough. "I swear, we ate everything after we were done testing on them."

"By the way, raw potatoes are awful," Franky added from the relative safety of the dining room.

"That's because you can't fucking _digest_ them, shithead."

The three of them simmered in silence, two of them in horror and one in contemplation. Well, indigestion for however long they were testing was _probably_ punishment enough.

"As long as you don't fucking _steal_, I wouldn't mind you making some other kitchen shit," he said, picking up the potato masher again and going to town on the apples.

If Franky noticed the oddly enthusiastic way he pulverized the sauce, he didn't let it overwhelm his own optimism. "Really? Super! 'Cause I had some other ideas, and y'know, Usopp told me how ridiculously _long_ it takes to cook some things, and I thought, y'know, I could repurpose the tech for my totally awesome laser to like, maybe replace your oven and make that stuff go faster – "

"What the fuck, am I cooking or making a _bonfire,_" Sanji shot back, but he still laughed as he added some sugar and gave Franky a sample.

Lunch was as rowdy as ever, and it was a blessing afterwards to just duck his way outside and lean by the prow, watching the sea for signs of land. He took the opportunity to try some of the shit that Chopper gave him.

It turns out, gum was pretty shitty. What the fuck was this disgusting texture in his mouth and why was he keeping it in there? And oh my _god_ the _sound,_ like the wet squelch of mud. Was he eating mud? He might be literally eating mud. And _shit,_ it tasted _horrible_ once it didn't have an actual _taste_ anymore.

"Can you _stop._"

Sanji looked down to see Zoro napping against the railing. Or trying to nap, anyways. Right now, he was aiming his scary marimo face up at him with all the ire of a woken dragon.

"Stop what?" Sanji asked, and found himself blowing a bubble out of the gum the way that he had seen others do before. Zoro's glare hardened as the bubble inflated, and he almost looked like he would bust an artery when it finally popped.

"_That," _he hissed. Sanji stared blankly down at him, his mouth working the gum like a particularly tough masseuse. The wad continued snapping and popping and squelching its way into a shapeless choking hazard.

"Be more specific, marimo, I ain't a mind reader. Not that it'd help with _you_ – "

"_The fucking noise, you asshole._ You better cut that shit out _right now_."

Sanji moved the gum to the other side of his mouth and ruminated on Zoro's words. "What, you can hear me chew?"

"The _entire ocean_ can hear you chew! Fucking shithead, aren't _you_ always on my case about 'proper eating' or some bullshit?"

"That's true," Sanji admitted, because Zoro was an uncouth bastard and it wasn't _his_ fault he was raised by fucking wolves or something. "Sorry."

As Zoro recoiled from the shock, Sanji blew a small bubble while maintaining eye contact. And then, slowly, he tongued it back into his mouth, pressed it up against the roof, and _pop._

Zoro was on his feet in seconds, and Sanji barely managed to bring his arms up defensively before Zoro's went for his neck. Forearm locked against forearm, one pair trying to push inward while the other braced against the first. Using the railing behind him for support, Sanji brought a leg up and started trying to gain some space by pushing Zoro in the ribs – and when that didn't work, ineffectually stomping them with as much force as he could muster in such an awkward position.

"_Fucking spit it out you goddamn piece of shit cook I'm gonna fucking skewer you over a fucking fire and dance in your ashes"_

Sanji was fairly confident that Zoro wouldn't fucking skewer him over a fucking fire and dance in his ashes, but choking him was a definite possibility. With his head leaning backwards and his mind preoccupied with the struggle at hand, it was getting harder and harder to keep the gum away from his throat. Which was why it finally happened as one of Sanji's shoes was trying its best to fit into Zoro's nose – the gum stopped living close to the edge and instead took the plunge.

Sanji gagged, and the force of the reflex sent him further over the railing than he would ever want to be. He felt a grip on his ankles a few seconds before he felt a ringing pain at the back of his head that dislodged the wad of gum back into the proper mouth area and he had to bring his hands to his mouth in order to feel assured that nothing else would come up. By this point, he could feel more hands on his legs, pulling him back upright, and he tried to stand properly (even when the world kept moving) as everybody crowded around him, asking about this and that, tugging at his wrists, grabbing his shoulders.

Sanji saw grass and spat, only to find that the grass was actually Zoro and there was now a colorless mass clinging to his ridiculous hair.

He stared at Zoro. Zoro stared at him. Everybody stared at them. Zoro's eyes were wide and his hand was frozen halfway up to his head, as though he was afraid to find what he already knew was there.

And then Sanji gave him his shittiest shit-eating grin he ever grinned.

It took the better part of an hour to cajole Zoro to stop chasing Sanji and come inside to get the gum out and by that time, they were docking. As Sanji pulled up the sails for the first time in _ages,_ he decided that it would be a good idea to be scarce before the dumb brawn came out again.

On the way to the gangplank, Luffy stopped him. "You're going out?"

"Yeah, aren't you?" Sanji replied, unable to keep the surprise off his face. Luffy slumped backwards and folded his arms behind his head in a somehow dejected manner.

"Yeeeeah, Nami says she doesn't want me wandering around. She says I 'can't stay outta trouble' and 'always ruin everything.'"

"That's completely true."

"I'm gonna sneak out later anyways," Luffy announced with his too-wide grin, apparently oblivious to the fact that Nami was within earshot. Luckily for him, all she did was sigh into her hands before heading inside to change her outfit. "But if you're gonna go out, then you should probably have a disguise!"

Sanji hoped it wasn't another fake beard. The last time, it felt like he had ripped off all his facial hair. "Luffy, I'm the _least_ recognizable one here 'cause of my shitty wanted poster."

But as always, his captain wasn't one for listening, and before he knew it, Sanji found his face covered by scratchy straw. He had to fumble a little before tilting the hat properly on his head, and only then was he able to recognize it as a hat, no, _the _hat, and he had to bite down on his lip else he'd gasp like an idiot.

Luffy only stood back like he hadn't just handed over his prized possession. His black hair, free from its confines, stuck out in every direction like a comb's worst nightmare. "There! Now we're _both_ in disguise!"

They had planned this. Holy shit, they had been organizing, haven't they, having little _meetings_ or something so they could spring everything on him at _once_ on the _very day_ he was doing this thing, the whole 'restraint' thing, and if he asked Luffy _right now_ then he'd know for sure because the stupid shithead was too stupid to even lie and _fuck,_ he hoped he wasn't going to be so sentimental as to _cry_ because that would be _too much._

"You're still pretty damn recognizable," was all he said as he lowered the brim of the straw hat over his eyes.

Luffy managed some semblance of a somber look. "I'll be careful." He maintained the serious tone for all of three seconds before he caught sight of Chopper and Robin and ran towards them, arms flailing like rubber bands. "Heeeyy! C'mon! Let's go, let's go, let's go!" he belted out in a not-so-stealthy way. Sanji got the feeling that he wasn't going to be careful.

He still couldn't help but smile at the scene as he unwrapped a blueberry-flavored lollipop and stuck it in his mouth only to find that it didn't even taste like blueberries at all. As Luffy bounced off the ship with his group in tow, Sanji adjusted the hat in every angle he could think of – as much as it suited his casual sweatshirt (as opposed to his usual wear), he wasn't used to wearing something on his head. He'd have to find some sort of reflective surface later to properly set it. But for now, he really should head into town before the best shit got sold.

The lollipop rolled harshly against his tongue as he loped his way down the gangplank onto shore. The island wasn't exactly pirate-friendly – had a goddamn Marine base stationed smack-dab in the middle, where it could easily access all the surrounding towns. So, they had weighed anchor out of sight as they possibly could, under the lee of a cliff. There was a sad and cold strip of beach that was hopefully not regularly visited, which led to a slope and eventually a path down into the port town of Black Moore. He didn't even make it to the sand before he was called from behind.

"Sanji-kun! Wait up!" At the sound of Nami's voice, how could he do anything but stall where he stood and turn? It was a few seconds before she appeared at the top of the gangplank, her hair bouncing in cute pigtails around her shoulders. She was wearing a short-sleeved sweatshirt he hadn't seen before, which just hung open to show off the tank top underneath. It was a more modest and ragged outfit than she usually wore, and he had a hard time figuring out if the fringes at the end of her clothes were the kind that were fashionable or were the kind that suggested that they had been living with moths for the past few months.

"Anything you need?" he asked, his teeth clacking against the candy as her feet clattered down the wood in loose platforms.

"Don't be silly, I'm going with you," she said blithely, only sparing the straw hat the barest of glances.

The combination of the bombshell that _Nami was accompanying him_ and the way that she said it like it _wasn't_ a big fucking deal left Sanji too stunned to even offer an arm to help her down the gangplank. He ended up standing around, staring at empty space like a moron as she descended herself and made it halfway across the beach before he even thought about moving.

Nami had the decency to linger by the edge of the mossy woods as he jogged the distance between them. Once there, he paused to take a breather (holy _shit_ was he _that_ out of shape?) before stuttering, "Don't you usually – I mean, I'm really just – it's groceries, I don't want – you might not get to shop for – "

"I'm fine with the clothes I have right now. Stop babbling and let's just get some groceries already."

She was an angel, a saint, practically a martyr, and he loved her _so goddamn much_ and hadn't stopped falling in love with her ever since the day they met. His legs almost melted with the intense affection he held for her right now, and still he said, "It looks slippery – would you like me to carry you?"

And Nami, with her voice like a siren's call, said, "Geez, can't you act _normal_ for once?" So that was a no.

He still hovered around her, but it hadn't actually been that slippery. Despite the uneven ground and some intrusively gnarled tree roots, both of them managed to not stumble at all. Maybe because there wasn't a lot of undergrowth due to the way the trees seemed to blot out the sky. Instead, the annoyances came from above in the form of hanging tendrils that were the foliage of this forest – long, thin, pale-green _things_ that stuck in his hair and crawled into his neck with a crumbly wet feeling that reminded him of moist bread. Or, even worse, _bugs_, and once he got _that_ thought in his head it took all of his efforts to keep his screaming internal every time they had to pass through another barrier of the damn plant tree things. He almost kissed something when they finally broke out onto a path but given that his only options were Nami (the _best_ choice but he wasn't keen on breaking his nose again), a tree (_fuck_ them and their progeny), and the ground (which squelched and wasn't being kind to his shoes), it was probably best that he didn't.

At this point, his lollipop tasted more of stick than not-blueberries and so he crunched the bit of candy that was left and flicked the stick somewhere into the distance where it would hopefully choke a shitty tree somehow. Another one was in his mouth in an instant. He glanced at the wrapper. It certainly didn't taste like any fucking watermelon _he_ knew.

"Sanji-kun," Nami said, and there was nothing else in the world but her now and the beautifully disgusted face she made as the two of them trudged their way down the path. "I'm almost reconsidering your offer of carrying me."

"Then leap into my arms, my love, and I shall escort you away from these horrid surroundings!" he declared in a manner that was, as usual, less suave than he thought. Nami flicked some mud at him with her foot playfully.

"I said _almost,_ lover boy, I'm not that desperate. We're almost there anyways, it's just down the hill."

Sanji paused at the crest of the hill and took in the town spread out below him. He enjoyed places like these, where entire landscapes would rise over the horizon like celestial bodies, letting him see the entire lay of the land and get a glimpse of what he couldn't see from the streets alone. It was a chance to get the overall feeling of a place, a first impression, if you will.

His first impression of Black Moore was that it was probably the shittiest, most miserable place he had ever laid eyes on. And he had been to Thriller Bark.

That was probably unfair. There was less mud, that was a big plus. It looked like the entire place used to be a swamp before some industrious and _incredibly_ optimistic people drained everything away, turning the place into a big hole in the ground which...A for effort. Everything was made out of wood, really rustic and _really _increased the smell of mildew. And because it was below sea level, the ocean that hugged its shores looked like it was constantly on the verge of spilling over into the actual place where the people actually lived and what the fuck why would anybody want to _be_ here.

"I didn't realize there were humble places like this in the New World," Sanji muttered towards Nami as they started making their way in.

"If I had known, I would've worn boots," Nami complained as they passed by rows of chatty wagoners who jeered and joked about their disheveled appearance and their muddy feet. Sanji was tempted to kick one of them, if only to clean his shoes a little. Instead, he started picking out the shitty tendrils of leaves out of his hair.

"We can probably buy some around here, if you'd like."

"_After_ grocery shopping," she growled, and Sanji could see that he wasn't the only one with the temptation to harm someone.

All the walkways in Black Moore were like docks, in that they were slightly elevated slabs of wood running in all directions. There were no poles holding them up, though, it simply rested on the ever-present mud so that every step they took seemed to make the whole place sink further in. None of the locals seemed particularly bothered, even when the mud sucked threateningly below their homes, and so Sanji figured that he would just have to live with it for the few hours he planned on staying in this godforsaken place.

As soon as they found the market though, Sanji was immediately in his element. Barter was the same all over the world: shouting, exhaustion, with a sprig of rampant cheating on top. Absolutely breathtaking.

"Alright, what do we need?" Nami asked, and rather than take the full minute to rattle off _everything,_ Sanji simply gave her the list to skim. She nodded through it, handed it back, and said, "We _absolutely_ can't carry all that back to the ship."

Sanji shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know there'd be so much mud."

"Alright, hang on, I'm gonna see if I can find some wagon to rent. You go ahead and get started, okay?"

Sanji sent her off with a salute before turning and milling in the crowd, surreptitiously scraping the scum off his shoes whenever he could. Despite the popular fashion statement being rubber galoshes and ugly, wide-brimmed hats, the ingredients they offered were pretty great. It was probably mean of him to think so, but he had kind of expected a podunk town like this to just have shit. But there was rice, some quality fish, even fruit, and since there was no way in _hell_ they got an orchard to grow around _here,_ they must've been imports from either one of the other towns on the island or from another island. Hopefully the former, otherwise the price would be _really_ hiked up...

It was, unfortunately, the latter. Sanji pinched his nose and sighed. He could probably talk down the price a little, but it'd still put a shitty dent in his funds considering just how much food they _needed_. But, well, no use cursing the mechanics of the barter system. He started by picking out some oranges and working his way from there.

"Haven't seen you around here before," the stall owner said as soon as he realized that Sanji wasn't leaving any time soon. He had yet to realize that he'd probably need to grab another basket for all the fruit. Maybe four.

"Passing through." He tossed over two more oranges that passed inspection and a particularly fine apple that he snatched from a competing consumer. They all tumbled into the basket that the owner held out for him.

"Where from?" the owner continued, not taking the hint from Sanji's stunted answer. He nodded down at Sanji's uncomfortably muddy footwear. "Nearby town, I suppose. The Cliffs? Didn't you know better than to _walk_ here?"

It was probably better to avoid probing questions as to why his ship didn't dock at the, y'know, _docks, _so Sanji just played along. "I knew better once my feet fucking started sinking into the ground." He dumped a pile of pears and several limes in the welcoming basket.

The owner burst out into boisterous laughter at his expletive-ridden misfortune and Sanji tried to not hold it against him. "Yeah, Black Moore gets so muddy, you could _ski_ down those hills!" he said, sounding remarkably proud of something that he probably shouldn't be. Sanji avoided beaning him in the head with another apple, if only because that would bruise the apple. "Must be a helluva culture shock, eh?"

"I usually expect to be walking on stones in marketplaces. Or at least dry dirt." Though the slow, unstable way the walkways shifted under his feet wasn't entirely unwelcome; it was familiar, it was like the rolling of the sea, if the sea was less water and more gross mucus-y shit that dried way too fast under the sun.

"But seriously, I can't understand how you Cliff people can live up there without constantly being afraid of falling to your deaths," the owner remarked, nodding up at some distant place beyond the looming tower of the Marine base that watched over the island.

"_I_ can't understand how _you_ guys live here without being afraid of drowning," Sanji retorted, nodding his head up the boardwalk, which gradually rose to sea level and led to the port. Somewhere beyond that was the ocean, lapping at the lip of the marshy indent the town had settled itself into. The stall owner chuckled and tapped the side of his nose knowingly.

"You're new here, so you wouldn't know – there's a pretty neat trick to this place. You noticed how all the buildings are mostly wood, right?"

Sanji couldn't even dignify that question with a nod, only a flat stare, because _duh._

"Well. You notice all the chains attached to the edge of the wood?"

The flat stare turned into a blank stare because who the fuck goes around looking at bits of wood? But if he stood on his toes and craned his head to look behind the stall, over to where boardwalk met mud, he could see a thick, long, _muddy_ thing snaking around in the dirt soup that _could_ have been a chain.

The owner grew a little more conspiratorial, leaning in like some shitty adult talking down to a kid. Sanji wrinkled his nose as his face got too close for comfort, but the owner seemed to have interpreted that as a reaction to the constant smell of wet wood. "So, whenever the tide overflows in here, or whenever monsoon season's in, or whenever there's a _huge_ storm...water floods in this pit, aaand...the town floats on it! The chains are all there to stop it from just floating out to sea!"

The blank stare evolved into a hard glare of disdain. "Why didn't you just build the town on higher ground?"

"So why'd ya come all the way down here to shop for fruit?" the owner asked, seeming to think that Sanji's question was a rhetorical joke. "That's a pretty long trek, y'know. You could've just bought your groceries at some store up there."

He had been prepared for a question like this. It was easy enough to fabricate an excuse based on what he could imply from a place called 'The Cliffs.' "Then I'd have to fucking pay extra for the shitty trip it has to take on the way up. Now shut up and tell me how much this shit is."

Those words marked a change in the conversation. Now that it came down to money, the stall owner's face changed into something still friendly, but certainly less jovial as he patted the series of baskets that Sanji had filled. "By my count, six bushels? Forty-two thousand right there."

The lollipop almost shattered into pieces in his mouth. "Holy _fuck,_ that's almost – that's like a fucking _bounty!_ I came here to _save_ money, remember, asshole?"

The owner shrugged. "Can't be helped. I gotta buy these from the ships that come in port, and they don't come cheap. You expect me to to undersell it? How'd you expect me to make a profit, huh?"

Sanji ground the stick between his teeth, feeling the wad of bills in his pocket. "Twenty-one thousand."

"Forty-one thousand."

"Thirty."

"Forty thousand eight hundred."

"You _fucking asshole._" Sanji rubbed a hand down his face, remembered that it was the ugly and blotchy hand, and shoved it back in his pocket. "Alright, alright, _fine._ You fucking hustler, will you take at least _forty_ thousand? _That_ good enough – "

"Sanji-kun? Is this all the groceries you got so far?"

Spinning around, Sanji was greeted by the lovely sight of Nami pulling along something that looked a bit like a sleigh with years-old caked mud splattered on its pointed front. It was a less wonderful sight, but at least it meant that he wouldn't have to carry everything through the mud himself. "Nami-swan~!" he crooned, much to the amusement of the stall owner. "I'm just about to buy all the fruit we need, I'm sorry that I'm so slow! I only wanted to pick out the best for my dearest mellorine~!"

Although she of course looked lovely even when slightly covered in mud, Nami seemed to have found a place to wash off her feet and was now as clean as Sanji would have liked to been. Her shorts had been a good choice compared to his slacks – he could feel the damp ends still clinging to his ankles like a slimy banshee. Currently, she bore an attractively annoyed face. "I told you to knock that off already. How much is it?"

"Forty thousand," said the stall owner, leaning back and obviously enjoying what, to him, probably looked something like a lover's quarrel.

"Huh?! Don't you think that's _way_ too expensive?"

"Well miss, as I was telling your – "

"C'mon, Sanji-kun. I saw a place where we can get these things _much_ cheaper."

"What?" Sanji said as he found himself being dragged by the arm.

"What?" said the stall owner finding himself being left behind with six bushels of miscellaneous fruit.

"Ah, Nami-san, please reconsider," Sanji said even though he was in no way resisting the way she pushed the sleigh's rope into his hands. "After all, I chose out that fruit _very_ carefully, they're the best ones I found!"

"Yeah, and I have the best fruit in this whole market! So these are the best of the best!" the stall owner piped up from behind his counter. His helpers and other customers glanced curiously their way. "Also, you're gonna make me have to put all this fruit back!"

Nami waved a hand carelessly. "Not my problem. Besides, Sanji-kun, I have faith that you can pick out the best fruit at this _other_ stall!" His legs almost melted again, or maybe they finally just turned into mud after his prolonged proximity to the damn stuff.

"Those cheap fruits are going to be of a _much_ lower quality, miss! Trust me, you deserve the best, and I've got the best right here!"

As the stall owner continued to up his sales pitch, Nami shot an evil glance his way and then set her hand lightly on Sanji's shoulder. "Sanji-kun, I have faith that you can make _anything_ taste like heaven, even mediocre fruit! So let's go – "

"_Wait!_ Okay, okay, I'll lower the price!"

Sanji was the only one who could see Nami's attractively fearsome face, like a shark who also happened to be an egregiously immoral loan shark and during her free time, played a lot of poker with the skill of a smug card shark. It was the sharpest smile he had ever seen her have, and by the time she turned around, she had expertly rounded it out into something shaped like a friend. "Oh, how nice of you! Did you hear that, Sanji-kun? We can get the fruit you picked out for nine hundred beri!"

At that, the owner balked. "Hang on, woah, I never said _that,_ you gotta be _crazy_ if you think – "

"Did you just fucking _insinuate,_" Sanji breathed, and the air suddenly dried up, "that this lovely woman is _mentally deranged?_" And even though he was practically spitting smog and emitting a worrying haze of heat, he still glanced back towards Nami because she _did_ tell him to tone it down. But this time, she only stood back and smiled, and so it was with a bit of sadistic glee that Sanji hammed up his act a little. His arm snaked over and grabbed the owner's collar, pulling him closer until the only thing separating their faces was the length of the straw hat's brim. "I should just fucking bury you in the shitty mud like the fucking frog you are!"

Only then did Nami start tugging at his shoulder. "Woah, Sanji-kun! Calm down, you don't want to get arrested like _last_ time!" He let go and let himself be pulled away, though he still snorted at the now-paler stall owner. "I'm _so_ sorry," said Nami as though she was apologizing for a child instead of a grown man. "He gets very protective, and what a temper! But it's a little endearing, don't you think? Anyways, about the price..."

"I won't go lower than twenty thousand," the owner babbled with a dry mouth. There was still a spark of fighting spirit left, it seemed.

"Twenty thousand, huh? What a coincidence! Wasn't that the amount of bail I had to pay for you, Sanji-kun? You know, that was a _really_ big hit to our life's savings..."

"Fucking worth it," Sanji growled, tapping his toe on the wood beneath them. "That asshole had the _nerve_ to insult you, so I _had_ to hunt him down and teach him some fucking manners."

"But you sent him to the hospital, if I recall!"

"And if the damn Marines hadn't fucking interrupted, I would have killed him," Sanji added, glaring right into the owner's eyes for added effect, the way he had seen Luffy sometimes do whenever he pulled his hat low over his face.

Nami laughed behind an easy-going hand. "Oh, Sanji-kun! You always get _so_ out of hand!"

At this point, the owner looked like he didn't know who to be afraid of more. The rest of the customers had decided to start milling around different stalls. The owner's assistants were left with no work and an uncomfortable feeling that they might be out of a job soon. When Nami stopped laughing and turned back towards them, they all jumped.

"Anyways, twenty thousand is still too much...can't we just settle on fifteen hundred?"

The owner stared into the face of her innocent pout, opened his mouth, caught sight of Sanji's thunderous face right behind her, and whimpered, "Sure."

The six baskets of fruit were loaded on their rented sleigh with no hassle and the two of them strode off, stiffly passing by several stalls before glancing at each other and finally giving in to hysterical laughter.

"I can't believe it. That was fucking _amazing_. _Fifteen hundred..."_ Sanji shook his head and stared admiringly down at Nami. "Just, holy _shit_, you sure are brutal."

"Glad you noticed," she replied, smiling back smugly. "Honestly, as a cook, you really should learn how to haggle better!"

"It was more like outright _robbery_ than haggling. News spreads fast in a market, if we keep doing this, we might get kicked out." Though even as he said this, his face still hurt from the grin that was splitting it in half.

"Then we just have to hurry. How do you feel about exploiting your injuries?"

Sanji sucked on the lollipop stick so hard that he almost swallowed it. "You mean...my burn? I don't exactly wanna go around showing it off..."

"You don't have to – nobody has to see anything. I'm just going to be noisy and you just have to act normally. How does that sound?"

The way she asked sounded like an actual question and even as her eyes flitted around for their next target, Sanji could tell she was waiting for him to answer. He chewed on the stick, twisted it around between his teeth.

Letting complete strangers see his own marked skin felt indecently intimate, in a way. It was almost too much for even _friends_ to see it, though at least even if they did, he knew they wouldn't ask anything. But the people here, he could already feel piercing gazes burning through his pockets, he could see unasked questions in their eyes and pitying faces like he was already a cripple, a leper, and none of that was happening at all but he could _feel_ it and it felt horrible.

But if nobody _actually_ saw it, then...it felt like a trick. Like he hadn't even been hurt at all, he was just pulling one over some gullible shitheads. (And maybe that was a tiny bit illegal, but he was a pirate so who gives a fuck.)

"Okay. That's fine."

And in an instant, Nami was tugging at his elbow, leading him and the sleigh over to some hanging pork and poultry, already pointing to everything and asking him what would be the best pick in that brightly fake voice of hers. When everything had been chosen and it came down to the price (which was actually cheaper than the fruit, the whole hundred pounds just coming up to thirty thousand), the two of them broke into their act like they had rehearsed it.

"Please, sir! We really can't afford to pay that much! Do we _look_ like wealthy people?"

"Then maybe don't buy that much meat, lady."

"But, my poor, dear brother, he hurt himself _so bad,_ please take pity on us!"

"N-Nami-san...it really isn't that bad..."

"He got burned recently, helping to douse a local fire, and the medical bills...oh, we're barely holding on as it is! Sanji-kun, show him, please!"

"N-no! It's nothing, seriously. Sir, I'm...sorry for the trouble. Let's just...let's get this over with, okay?"

"Why do you think he has such a ridiculous hairstyle in the first place? Here – I'll show you – "

"Hey, stop that! I don't want anybody to see!"

"Lady, calm down, you're bothering the other customers..."

"What, you have something against ugly scars? Does he _disgust_ you? I can't believe you'd discriminate against such an unfortunate soul! What a black-hearted person, who can only think of profit even when faced with a portrait of misfortune! Is the idea of just a _measly_ discount for a family struggling with physical disfiguration really so _rancid_ to you?"

And, after a crowd formed around them and other witnesses started choosing the side of fellow customers, Sanji and Nami got away with the meat that cost a mere thousand beri, sniggering like middle school delinquents.

It was amazing how well they played off each other, or maybe it was amazing how well Nami chose a con that felt completely natural for Sanji to act out. They got the vegetables for two thousand ("Please, I really can't pay more than that, my wife actually controls the money..."), seasoning for eight hundred ("We're in a fucking hurry, alright, so don't waste our goddamn time!"), and even got some extra crabs for the obscenely low price of fifty ("Ha! These crabs are fucking worthless, don't waste your money, miss. Here – why don't I take your lovely self to see some _real_ crabs?") before the port authorities finally caught wind of their shenanigans and chased them off.

They hadn't even blown through a quarter of his allowance. About a month's worth of balanced rations, and it had cost less than one of his ties. It was almost exhilarating how guilty he was supposed to feel, given that they had somehow gotten away with blatant theft of the produce of several merchants, like it was so absolutely ridiculous that he couldn't help but be proud of himself that they really did pull it off.

Nami nudged him playfully. "You're a pretty good haggling partner." Sanji almost floated away from the sheer bliss.

"We have more than enough money to buy you some boots," he reminded her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Like I really need galoshes on a regular basis – besides, I already have a pair on the ship! It'd be like buying an umbrella just for one day of rain. I'll just wash my feet again when we get back."

Sanji jabbed a thumb up the path. "We'll have to walk uphill."

Nami's response was to let out a muffled sigh into Sanji's shoulder. "Alright. Let's buy some stupid galoshes."

They bought some stupid galoshes, which were ugly as shit, and then proceeded to drown their unfortunate purchases by going on a shopping spree for things that were less ugly than shit. The dress shops were about as humble as the rest of Black Moore, but at least the clothing had _some_ semblance of style and the two of them could pretend to lose themselves in the art of clothes shopping – picking out, comparing, complimenting, color scheming – and if Sanji got a little too engrossed in some of the long, wavy pinafores that hung on the racks, with cute patterns and dreamy shades of cream, Nami didn't mention it.

Their impromptu shopping trip used up another one of Sanji's lollipops (his tongue was starting to tingle with sugar – gonna be hell on his tasting abilities for a while), but didn't really burden them with any more luggage. Nami only found a few skirts she was interested in and grabbed some shirts because there was a sale, and by then, it was already past the time when Sanji was supposed to make dinner so they hurried out towards the hill, past wagoners who tried to wave them down and cajole them with promises to get them wherever real quick.

"Hang on, Sanji-kun, you've been pulling that thing for a while," Nami said, tugging at the rope. "How's your hand?"

He opened up his palm to reveal a furiously red welt running across it. Nami hissed just looking at it, but he couldn't say that he would have ever noticed if she didn't stop him.

"I'll just use my other hand," he said, but Nami was already pulling the sleigh away from him with the look of a woman on a divine mission.

"So you can get rope burns on _both_ your hands?" she scoffed. "I pull, you push."

It was tough to push without any real traction to speak of – his fucking ugly galoshes kept slipping, leaving poor Nami to holster most of the weight as he struggled to even get a _sliver_ of leverage so he could at least brace himself against the back. It certainly didn't help that the wagoners below had taken to watching them for entertainment, hooting and hollering any time his feet wheeled wildly in the mud. He could only grit his teeth and daydream about kicking all their teeth in, so that their mouths all looked as fucking dirty as they sounded.

Patience paid off in the end, however, and once they slid their way onto level ground, the rest of the trip was a smooth glide to the beach. At least, Sanji imagined it would be once they stopped slumping over their groceries like a giant pillow.

"Hey," Sanji huffed, taking out his unfinished lollipop before it could fall in the mud. "Switch again. Your hands are burning, right?"

He couldn't quite see Nami's face from this angle, but her pained breathing took on a skeptical air. "At least I can _tell_ they're burning."

"No, it'll be fine, we're just going on a straight path and the ship isn't far. It'll be easy on the hand, alright?" His legs quivered as he pushed himself upright once more and made his way carefully to the front. "You can even just sit and ride, if you want."

Nami still hadn't gotten up, but she shot a wry smile up at him from where she was. "I'll pass. But okay." As she passed the lead off to him, she gave him a firm look. "But we're going to stop once in a while to check on it, okay?"

"Ah, Nami-san, you are so wonderfully thoughtful," Sanji crooned, and she broke out into laughter – not necessarily a negative response, but certainly not the usual one. His brow furrowed. "What?"

Nami finally stood up, standing on the toes of her shitty galoshes to poke a finger teasingly at his lips. "Your tongue is purple."

Sanji's mouth stayed clamped for the rest of the trip. He finished off the lollipop with severe reluctance.

As soon as they got back to the ship, everybody available came down to help with the new groceries despite his protests, and oddly enough he didn't try to refuse the assistance like he thought he would, but instead worried and fretted about where everybody was putting everything because he had a _system,_ dammit, and _you can't mix the new stuff with the old_ and no, you don't refrigerate _that,_ and don't just fucking _dump_ them like a _slob,_ you _shitty morons_ (not you, Nami-san, never). Somewhere in between his frantic supervision, he managed to grab his toothbrush while dropping off Luffy's hat on someone's bed and after kicking everybody out so he could get started on dinner (and _fuck_ it was so late), he clattered some pots and pans onto the stove and started scrubbing out his tongue over the kitchen sink as water boiled and oil popped.

"Is it purple?" he asked Usopp.

"_What?_" Usopp turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Sanji's tongue uncomfortably close to his nose. "Holy _shit! _What are you _doing?!"_

"Ith mey tong puhpuhr," Sanji repeated, struggling not to gag. Probably should have retracted his tongue before talking.

With the benefit of some distance, Usopp was able to calmly examine his mouth. "Yeah," he said, and ducked as though Sanji's curses were physical. "Lollipops, right? It'll wear off by tomorrow, man."

"And what, I just look fucking _stupid_ for the rest of the night?" If there was a furious way to stir noodles, Sanji had just invented it. The pasta spoon never clanked against the pot, but pure ire radiated off him enough to imply the sound.

"Nobody's going to look at your mouth, Sanji. And we tolerate Zoro's stupid hair, right?"

That at least elicited a snort. His favorite hobby never failed to relieve some anger. "I guess I should just ask Chopper for the red ones from now on."

"You're gonna keep with the lollipops?"

Sanji rolled his shoulders in a shrug before surreptitiously taking his medicine bottle out of his pocket. "It's a fucking shitty replacement for cigarettes, but I'll roll with it I guess." Usopp pretended to be engrossed with his soup as Sanji downed a pill.

"Do you think we'll have some time left before dinner?"

"Fuck,_I_ dunno," Sanji huffed to the ceiling as he dumped some chopped vegetables and pre-thawed slabs of meat into the pan. "We've started so fucking _late."_

"Just an hour," Usopp said, and Sanji had to shake his head because at this point, Usopp should have _known_ the frenetic multitasking that went on in the kitchen, especially with one cook working at less than his full potential. Sure, Sanji had been steadily getting faster and sure, the two of them had kind of gradually gravitated towards collaborating on meals instead of making separate ones together, meaning they were taking less time overall, but food took _effort_ and effort took _time._ It was one of the basic equations of the universe.

"What, you got something to do?" he shot back, whirling around and letting muscle memory take over the selection of spices. He found the basil without even looking and set it aside for later before hustling off to check on the preheating oven and start on the quiche.

Usopp made the verbal equivalent of a grimace. "I was kinda hoping that before everybody ate, I could..."

"If it's urgent, you can go ahead and do whatever – I can handle the rest," Sanji called over his shoulder, lightening his tone above the usual gruffness.

"You kinda need to be there too."

He had to raise an eyebrow at that, even if Usopp couldn't see anything but his back. "In that case, stop stirring the fucking soup like a moron and get the sauce for the goddamn pasta."

"Wh-what?!" Usopp almost dropped the spoon into the pot, and it was lucky he didn't because Sanji would have probably given him a concussion. "_What_ sauce?! Nobody told me about a sauce!"

"It's already made! I made it _yesterday!_ Just grab the bowl by the fridge – _not that bowl that's for the quiche oh my god I will literally kill you if you mess this up._"

The kitchen resumed its stressfully rushed atmosphere, but even so, the 'thing' Usopp wanted to do stayed somewhere in the back of his mind, like a cat that kept sitting on stuff he needed. This seemed remarkably like another nice thing being sprung on him for today and while the trouble that everybody was going through just for _him _still left something buzzing anxiously in his brain, he couldn't help but look forward to it. Today was just..._fun._ Even though he knew all this happiness, all these gifts were planned at some point beforehand, he was just overwhelmed by how _good_ it felt to have the people he loved do something for _him,_ on a day that would have normally just been any other shitty day. And given that he was specifically _not_ doing something for them back, it made it all the more apparent how much they _didn't_ ask for anything in return.

That probably sounded obvious. It probably sounded a bit ridiculous to be more affected and amazed by the _absence_ of something than by the things he was given. But still.

It just..._felt_ nice. It felt fucking _great_. Did people feel like this when _he_ did something for them? Like there was this big, expanding balloon in his chest that was threatening to burst his ribs?

After setting the quiche carefully on the red-hot grates, he caught his fucking doofy grin in the reflection of the oven door and lightly slapped his cheek in an attempt to make it go away by the time he turned around. Usopp leaned casually against the counter, with the soup and pasta already neatly settled in their bowls and the pots and pans tucked in the sink.

"How long's it gonna take?"

"Forty-five minutes," Sanji replied, tugging the oven mitts off and fumbling to hook them back in their place. Usopp strode over and hung them instead.

"Soooooo, we have time before dinner starts, right?"

Sanji's squint was as sour as Usopp's grin was wide. "You don't leave an _operating oven_ unattended. That's the _first fucking rule_ of the kitchen, shithead. And the first fucking rule of _this_ kitchen is: don't leave food unattended or else Luffy eats _everything."_

"Look, okay, it won't take long, I swear," Usopp cajoled, raising his hands as though Sanji were some implacable beast. And to be fair, he probably looked like it, but it was still rude. "And besides, Luffy hasn't even come back yet! Nami or Franky could guard the kitchen anyways."

Sanji pinched his nose, glared at the glowing oven door, and sighed. "Get Franky. If the quiche turns out shitty, it's your funeral."

Usopp didn't seem too threatened by any impending death-by-cook as he called for the bulky cyborg. Franky saw them off with overly-emotional vows to protect the kitchen _at all costs_ and the two made the extremely short trip down to the men's quarters. In the time it took to walk, Usopp had managed to babble out an incoherent explanation that kept being interrupted by the assurance that this was _absolutely_ worth his time, hopefully worth his time, maybe, probably, well, just wait until you see it, okay? Sanji snorted when Usopp threw open the door with an unnecessary flourish.

The men's quarters was exactly as he had left it last, discarded straw hat and everything. The only difference from then and now was the presence of Brook towering near the entrance with a grin that somehow seemed wider than normal. Hanging from his arm was a suit that was much too small for the skeleton's stupidly lanky body but, as Brook carefully unfolded it to its full length so that it appeared to stand facing Sanji, it looked just about his size.

"Sorry, it took me a while to save up," Usopp murmured, probably trying not to startle Sanji out of his stunned reverie. "I didn't realize how expensive your stupid fashion sense is."

"We pooled our assets and I chose out what I thought would suit you well," Brook added, his voice as light as he was. "Is it to your liking?"

It was a single-breasted suit, blue as the sea rippling by the shore, but with the door open, it seemed to glint like the light of the sun through water – silk, he realized. He'd never worn silk before. The lapels were peaked, cut perfectly, and a solid blue compared to the rest, which was embroidered with a light blue pattern that swirled and curled its way up and over the shoulders like waves, or maybe like clouds, possibly scales, perhaps all three. Underneath was a dark vest and underneath that was a white collared shirt, all which lined up so perfectly it was almost like they were melded together. The matching pants looked as smooth as sin, felt like the faint brush of thin hair and the come-hither flutter of eyelashes against his skin when he brought it closer to his face for examination. He closed his eyes and smelled the strangely intoxicating scent of mothballs and an empty wallet.

"How did you get my measurements?" he asked, not even looking at either of them. If they found his smelling suits thing weird, they said nothing.

"Chopper had the basic ones down, like your height and stuff. Nami got the rest by stealing some of your other suits and trying to estimate off of that."

Sanji frowned slightly. He hadn't noticed any of his clothes gone missing. But then again, he had just been throwing on the same sweatshirt over and over for the past few months.

"We tried the best we could, but um...sorry if it isn't a perfect fit," Usopp added, scratching the back of his head so that his hair bobbed back and forth. Brook held the radiant suit out closer to Sanji.

"If you don't mind me saying, you have looked incomplete without your usual attire – and somewhat discontent. Wouldn't you like to try it on?"

Sanji let go of the pants and looked down at his hands guiltily. Whenever they flexed, they did so with a slow and uneven shudder that betrayed his lack of control. "I can't – the buttons, it's..."

"The jacket has a clasp!" Usopp said and scurried over to demonstrate how it opened and closed with a sharp _click._

"And I have sown hidden zippers on the vest and dress shirt," Brook added, pulling aside the misleading flap of buttons to reveal the weave of metal teeth. "It might not be what you're used to, but it absolutely looks like a regular suit."

"Oh, this is no regular suit," Sanji said, still almost breathless as he finally took the hanger from Brook's hand. "You seriously got this for _me?_"

Usopp shrugged, hands bunched in his pockets. "Your suit got ruined when – by that one bounty hunter, and you never got it replaced. So."

Sanji ran a hand down the fabric once more, as useless as the gesture was, and his face melted into something that was sentimentally fond. There was no tie, but knots were a frustrating impossibility anyways and it looked fine without one. The shirt he could exchange with the various others he had accumulated over time, experiment with the hues a bit. He was already letting his mind swap and compare colors – perhaps something like a faint green...or coral? He liked coral. Or should he stay with the theme of blue, let it almost blend in like part of a spectrum?

He hardened his expression just in time to turn towards his friends. "What the fuck are you still doing here? I gotta fucking _change,_ asshats!"

"Aw, there's no need to be _shy_, Sanji," Usopp crooned back with a sly smile. "We're all guys here!" As soon as those last words left his lips, the sharpshooter scrambled backwards and out the door, far out of reach of any wild legs.

Brook tipped his hat as he sidled his way outside as well, but stayed bowed near the door with polite deference. "I suppose even you will deny me the sight of your under – "

Sanji slammed the door in his stupid skeleton face.

In the privacy of the empty quarters, Sanji stripped down carelessly, almost toppling over as he shrugged and kicked everything off into a messy pile in the corner. His usual habit of folding his clothes away had flown out the window because any time spent _not_ putting on that suit was time that his own heart might actually explode with prolonged longing and he probably shouldn't get into any medical emergencies with Chopper still gallivanting off with Luffy doing who-gives-a-shit.

He still was able to slip into the suit as naturally as if he had never stopped. His legs felt like velvet heaven, like they were being bathed in ice – not in terms of temperature, but in terms of a flawlessly smooth texture. It felt like whispers, like pouring a thin chocolate layer over the perfect eclairs. The dress shirt didn't feel as smooth, but it felt light, and putting it on reminded him of clean laundry dancing in the wind. It took a few tries for his clumsy fingers to get the zipper working right, and he could feel the metal brush discordantly against his skin as he moved, but it was a fault he could live with. The vest came on with the same difficulties, and the jacket overlaid everything like a dream and what a _pleasure_ it was to hear that damn _click_ of the button fitting together.

He stood there, brushing off wrinkles, tugging and straightening various edges, moving his arms around experimentally to test their freedom, just _soaking_, before walking out the door with a smile he just could not hide.

Brook and Usopp were still there and they jumped at his sudden exit before leaning back and admiring how the suit looked in use. Usopp whistled long and low, eyes traveling up and down, while Brook chose to show his own approval with an excited laugh. "You certainly look like a new person! Or, perhaps, an old person? Well, you're looking like yourself, Sanji-san!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sanji waved off, pretending there was a cigarette between his fingers. "It'll lose its novelty soon enough, shitheads. Now stop admiring and let me check on the fucking quiche."

Franky was far less subtle with his own reaction, reeling like he had been hit with a cannonball when Sanji entered the kitchen again. "Woah, bro! Look at _you!_"

He stood there, allowing himself to drink it in for a few seconds before saying, "You can fuck off now, shitty metalhead. When Luffy gets back, tell him that his shitty hat's on his bed or something."

Franky gave a salute and ducked out as Sanji peeked into the oven. The quiche was going over well, at least, but it was certainly far from done. To pass the time, Sanji started taking out plates and bowls, loading them up and transporting them to the table one at a time before simply plopping down in a chair and waiting, tracing fingers around the embroidered swirls on his jacket.

He could still feel the dreamy smile work its way onto his face every time he tried to stifle it, like holding onto a bar of soap that kept slipping out. At some point he simply let it be free to grow until his cheeks hurt from maintaining it, passing the time by smiling like a loon alone in the dining room. By the time Luffy finally came running at breakneck speeds straight into the door with a thick _thunk,_ Sanji had managed to smile himself out and was prepared with his typical shitty demeanor to kick the shitty black hole straight into the mast with a command to wait just _ten fucking minutes,_ asshole. And then making one of his rare allowances when it turned out Luffy _couldn't_ wait, as always, and announcing dinner a little early.

Everybody filed in and the ones who had already seen his new suit still stared in appreciation and the ones who didn't commented aloud how _good_ he looked and Sanji pretended to only pay the ladies' compliments any heed and Luffy just bounced into his chair and started eating and...

Sanji blinked and counted heads again.

"Where the fuck is that damn marimo?"

Everyone except Luffy paused and all their eyes eventually settled on the empty chair where Zoro would have sat. With the swordsman being such a constant, it was easy to just assume he was around somewhere.

Sanji tapped his foot. "Don't tell me he's still _sleeping._"

"He was supposed to be guarding the ship with Franky," Usopp recalled, and everybody turned as one to the cyborg in question.

Franky was in the middle of tying Luffy's grabby arms into useless knots, but he looked down guiltily at the sudden attention. "Look, I ain't a babysitter or nothing..."

"Franky," Nami said dangerously, stabbing her fork at one of Luffy's reaching fingers without looking.

It took a few seconds under six pairs of judgmental stares before Franky finally cracked. "Okay, look, I kinda forgot about him until now, alright?! After everybody left, he just ran out breathing fire and shit, and then he was like," Franky hunched over and closed one eye, "'Where the fuck is that goddamn cook grr I'm gonna kick his ass' and I was kinda distracted, y'know, tinkering with something, so I kinda just said," Franky used his spaghetti as a stand-in prop for said tinkering, "'Sanji went off to get groceries, bro, somewhere on the island,' and then he just ran off and I didn't realize until it was too late!"

The entire table filled with groans. Sanji absent-mindedly slammed his heel on Luffy's wrist, which had tried to stealth its way to other plates via the floor. "So basically, he's skipping dinner." Sanji looked down on the empty chair in distaste and slid the plate over towards Luffy's seat. It at least distracted him for a few seconds as he ducked back into the kitchen to retrieve the still-cooling quiche.

"I guess we have to go find him," Usopp huffed out loud, leaning on the table with a very put-upon expression.

"It's already getting dark out," Chopper commented. "Can we even track him at this point?"

Sanji set the pan of quiche in the middle of the table and started cutting it into slices – eight, rather than nine. "Nami-san, I must ask, is the Log Pose set?"

"What? Uh...yeah."

Upon hearing this answer, Sanji gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "Then this is the perfect opportunity to finally ditch his ass! Hell, a swampy place like this is probably his natural habitat! I vote we leave before he comes back and mosses up the ship again."

His proposal and his raised arm were swiftly ignored by the rest of the conference.

"To leave him overnight on an unfamiliar island with a marine base will only cause more trouble in the long run, I fear..."

"Yeah, but he's gotta be a noticeable dude, sis. If we ask around, we're bound to find someone who saw him, right?"

"You're assuming he even managed to get into town...with _his_ internal compass, he's probably lost in the forest like an idiot."

"Maybe Chopper can sniff him out?"

"Um...scent doesn't really stick well in marshy environments...but, maybe if he wandered to higher ground...?"

"That certainly does not narrow down the location, I must say. Perhaps it would be faster if I were to...ghost about, as it were?"

A sudden slam on the table shook everybody into silence. Luffy stared blankly at all of them, reached his fork over to nab a slice of quiche, and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. Everybody watched him chew.

"If Zohroh'z'n truhburl, zhen we'uhl helrp him out. Buh if he izn', zhen yehre'z nuh use wohhin' 'bout him."

Luffy continued chewing, leaving the rest of his crew some time to parse his incomprehensible message.

"...He's right," Sanji finally said, the most practiced at understanding the language of stuffed mouths. "The stupid marimo can take care of himself. Let's save our worrying for someone who _actually_ deserves it."

"He's been lost before," Nami added, albeit less certain. "He can probably at least last until morning and if he isn't back, then we'll start searching."

"It's _Zoro,_" Usopp finished with a laugh, "I mean, what kind of trouble would _he_ get into that he can't just fight his way out of?"

"_Attention citizens,"_ blared a loudspeaker from somewhere on the island. The voice, although crackling to the point of being unidentifiable, was loud and authoritative enough to catch the attention of even Luffy, and the crew stopped as one to listen. The noise seemed to be coming from the middle of the island. "_We are announcing the recent capture of Roronoa Zoro, known crew member of the Straw Hat Pirates. It is believed that other members of this crew are still moored on this island. If you see any suspicious persons, do _not _engage – instead, please swiftly inform the nearest law enforcement officer of the time and location of any Straw Hat sightings._

"_We are also announcing that the transportation of Roronoa Zoro will take place tomorrow afternoon; he will be escorted to the harbor, where he will be imprisoned on a Navy vessel and taken to his execution site. Because of this, we ask that all residents around the area stay inside from noon until the vessel departs for their own safety.__Thank you for your time."_

The loudspeaker clicked off, leaving a ringing absence of sound in everybody's ears. Everybody continued staring out into the island with a blank look.

Luffy's fork snapped in his hand, and Sanji couldn't even bring himself to scold him for it.


	9. Sanji's Night

"_ZOOOOOROOOOOO!"_ Luffy belted out for probably the sixth time since the announcement. It was getting harder to keep him from launching himself out the door and onto the island. Chopper and Franky were both managing to wedge themselves between their captain and the door, but at this rate, Luffy would simply push them through the wall.

The rest of the crew paid him little heed, instead focusing on the crude map that Nami had doodled up on the back of Sanji's grocery list. All the plates and cutlery had been haphazardly shoved to the side, and while Sanji would have fretted over their precarious position in other circumstances, he was currently standing between Usopp and Robin, tapping his foot and trying to decide whether the first thing he'd do after rescuing Zoro was taunt him or kill him.

"They'll be expecting us, though!" Usopp was trying to explain.

"We can't leave this until tomorrow, it has to be _tonight._ The longer we have to stay here, the more danger _everybody_ will be in," Nami shot back with her usual breathtaking logic, though she seemed as unhappy about the fact as Usopp was. "So we just need a plan to get in and out quickly, make sure Zoro doesn't somehow get lost on the way back to the ship, and then set sail before anything else can happen."

"That's a tall order," said Robin, tapping on the map. "The terrain around here is muddy, which will hinder our mobility. We don't know the defenses that this base has, but they will likely be able to bombard us with some manner of artillery. If we cannot move fast enough to catch them by surprise, they will end up riddling us with holes before we can even reach the doors."

"_LEMME GO! WE GOTTA GET ZOOOROOO!"_ Luffy wailed from the door.

"Couldn't we sneak in?" Brook suggested, gesturing towards the surrounding trees as potential cover.

"Not when they'll probably be watching out for us. And we'll still be caught by the mud. From here, it's an uphill trek, y'know."

"But this area up here is pretty high," Usopp added, pointing to the side of the island that Sanji hadn't been to. The infamous Cliffs, he supposed. "You still have that sleigh thing, right?"

"Wagon," Sanji found himself correcting, even though it was clearly a fucking sleigh.

"If we made our way up there, we could, like, slide down to the base? Maybe?"

"The terrain up there is rather rocky, but perhaps...if you don't mind enduring several scrapes and bruises..."

"Okay, wait," Sanji spoke up, his expression a hard frown. "You're talking about sneaking in, but not _everybody_ can sneak in. Espionage is best done with one person, y'know? Even if we're relying on Luffy to make a shitty distraction, they're gonna fucking notice that the whole crew ain't there."

Everybody fell silent (except for Luffy, still screaming bloody murder). He wasn't sure why. He hadn't meant to sound disheartening or anything.

"So what you're saying is," Nami started slowly, tracing a finger around various paths to the marine base, "there should be two groups, one pretending to bust through the front door and one going into the back."

"But then we're back to the problem on how to get close without being totally wrecked, right?" Usopp sighed as he went to lean against the near wall. "And the whole _timing _of it...Luffy busts his way up there, 'cause he's Luffy, but then we still have to get up through all that _mud,_ and by the time we get up there, all those goons will _totally_ be ready and expecting us, with _guns_ and _swords_ and probably _crazy bullshit powers..._maybe we'll draw their attention enough to let the sneaky group get in, but what's gonna happen to the ones at the front door, huh?"

It was when Sanji stared at the map, tuning out the waving hands, the hollering, the tense back-and-forth, that he thought of the most ridiculous thing he had ever considered in his life. And given his chosen lifestyle, that was pretty damn ridiculous.

"What if," Sanji muttered, tracing his finger in a line from the circle that represented Black Moore straight up to the marine base. "What. If. We take the ship. And sail it right up there."

He was met by a lot of disbelieving stares. "You want us to take our boat and put it on dry land."

"It's hardly _dry,_" Sanji snorted as Luffy took advantage of Franky and Chopper's brief shock and lurched a centimeter closer to the deck. "And look." His hand started circling around the hole known as Black Moore. "This area gets flooded real easily, from what I hear. We get some water in there, gain some momentum with a Coup de Burst, and then the ship'll rocket up to the base."

"Sanji-kun," Nami said as kindly as she could, "there's a town in the way."

"It's made to float, and it's anchored by chains. If we cut off all but one, we can just move it out of the way."

"Really?" Usopp and Robin looked towards Nami, who could only shrug and shake her head. "Where are they? How many are there?"

"I...don't really know." Sanji shoved his hands back in his pockets and leaned back against the wall again. "I didn't really expect to...and I mean...I don't know if the Sunny can actually get up there, I thought with the mud and shit...but..."

"Franky," Nami snapped, spinning on her heel to the struggle that everybody had been ignoring the whole time.

Somehow, both Franky and Chopper had gotten wedged in the doorway together and looked completely immoveable. Luffy had not let this deter him and had simply tried squeezing himself through any gaps available, managing to get his head and one arm out through the space between Franky's armpit and Chopper's shoulder. As flexible as he was, Luffy only managed to get all three of them even more stuck, and it certainly didn't help that he had continued his wriggling regardless. One of Luffy's legs was snaking its way to the corner of the door, looping around Franky's neck in the process. Nobody looked particularly comfortable with this development.

"_What,_" Franky said.

"Can the Sunny," Nami started before drifting off as Luffy's other arm elbowed Chopper in the nose on its way above his head. They could see that Luffy's straw hat wasn't quite making the trip with the rest of him. It was smothering Franky's face. Nami held a hand to her mouth for a few seconds. "Luffy. You need to calm down."

"_No,_" he called back, impressive with the way his neck had no real room for him to speak. "We need to, I gotta – lemme _go, I'm not gonna let any of my friends get executed – "_

"It won't happen." Bracing a foot against Chopper's unfortunate abdomen, Sanji _pulled_ and somehow got the rubber mess free from the tangle. Not that this made anything easier – as soon as Luffy regained full mobility, he used it to his advantage, pushing and kicking at Sanji's arms, chin, feet, so much that he was having a hard time keeping the shitty guy in his grasp. "Luffy, _listen!"_

"I can't – but – " At this point, the captain was all but choking on his own words, his rage going on too long and moving into something more bitter, more salty. He could see it in his eyes, feel it in the shaking between the thrashing. Sanji twisted himself behind Luffy, took hold of his arms and pinned the rest of him to the floor with his foot. The maneuver was enough to make the table shudder in its place and send everybody else on careful tiptoes as the captain aimed his furious eyes as best as he could at Sanji with all the hate he could muster, because a person like him couldn't help but hate someone who happened to be in the way, even when it was someone he loved.

Sanji stared down the beast as best as he could. "_Listen._ Okay? The execution is happening tomorrow. We've got over twelve hours. We have _time._ He's not even on the execution stand. Okay? We just gotta think up a plan first, and then we'll let you go at it. We need to be _prepared._ Just wait a little. We have time. Stay with us for a bit, captain. You can't fucking lose your shit over this, not now."

With every word, Sanji's voice got softer and softer. And, almost like he was being hypnotized, Luffy struggled less and less, until he was simply quivering with pent-up energy on the floor. Sanji kept his grip steady.

"Luffy. It's not going to happen again."

Those words sent a chill that forced everybody to lean back even as they peered down at their captain with curious concern. Nobody had ever gotten this close to even acknowledging that event, the war that their captain had endured when his crew wasn't there for him. They couldn't even say they knew what had happened, not when the only information they got was from the newspaper, which was mostly interested in the outcome and not the events. The number of escapees. The injured. The death toll. Nothing important, compared to what they really wanted to know.

Luffy breathed in, out. His fingernails dug deep into the grain of the wood underneath, doing no damage except to his own skin. "Alright," he said, and Sanji removed his foot. Luffy rose with the dignity of someone wielding fierce, primal force, looking like he was moving even when he was still. "You have to hold on to me. I'll stay, but I dunno how long."

It was with a flick of a wrist that Sanji managed to wrap Luffy's arm around his, coiling it halfway to his elbow. And it was with an assuring nod that activity started once more in the galley of the Thousand Sunny. Chopper finally transitioned out of Heavy Point, leaving enough room for Franky to let himself back in the room proper.

"So, Franky," Nami started again now that the cyborg was joining the conference. "Could the Sunny go up a muddy slope and stay there?"

"I'm not really keen on trying to get Sunny stuck on land _intentionally,_ but..." Franky wearily sank into a seat and sighed. "If that's the _plan,_ then _yeah._ We can drop anchor in the mud. It'll probably hold. I'll figure out how to get back to the goddamn water if we get stuck."

Nami balanced on the back of her heels, still staring singes into the map. "I'm pretty sure I can flood the place. Tidal wave probably isn't safe, but I can make a deluge happen at least. So the only problem left is those chains – "

"I'm baack!" Brook, or rather, the ethereal representation of Brook's soul, announced as he completely ignored the open door in favor of the wall right next to it. There were several subsequent crashes to the floor in response to this surprise.

"Dammit, Brook! Don't creep around like that!" Usopp shouted, sporting a new bump on the head.

"Why did you leave in the middle of an _important meeting_ anyways!?" Nami added, still formidable even with her position on the floor.

"When did you even _leave,"_ was Franky's minor quibble. He was one of the few who had stayed upright, although he had been startled enough to knock his head against the ceiling and so was not in a charitable mood either.

Brook's ghostly presence chilled the air as he bobbed from side to side with a comically put-upon expression. "You...did not even take notice of my leave?"

"We were kinda preoccupied with other things," Sanji said, waving the arm that Luffy was leashed to. Man, this would be a _really_ good time for a freaking smoke. As it was, he had to be satisfied with another stupid lollipop.

Robin, just about the only one unsurprised by Brook's sudden appearance, tilted her head and smiled. "I noticed. You were scouting the area, were you not? Have you found something?"

This was all it took for Brook to brighten up as he finally settled back in his body and stopped making the dining room feel like the inside of a fridge. "Yes, I have! When Sanji-san mentioned the chains, I felt that I would be the swiftest in confirming their locations," said the reanimated skeleton, making full use of his appendage mobility. "There are five in total, arranged in a circle around the periphery of the town. Like so:" He indicated the locations on the map, leaving Nami to quickly mark then down. "The ends of the chain are anchored a bit away, under the mud and in solid rock. Most of it is obscured by mud, so I believe the best way to deal with them would be on the side that is attached to the town. Thus ends my report!"

"Nice," Nami said, clapping her hands together. "This plan is really coming together now!"

"Yeah, but what about the chains? Zoro was kinda the one who went around cutting stuff like that," Usopp pointed out halfway on his feet. His nose settled perfectly flat on the surface of the table as he peered over it at the map.

"Um...couldn't we...the town is made of wood, right? Can't we just break off the wood that the chain's attached to?" Chopper asked from his seat. His head barely reached above Usopp's.

"That would be an excellent idea..._if_ we don't alert the residents. I can't imagine they would be happy with us tampering about their homes."

"Welp, I'm out," Franky expelled with a sigh before leaning back in his chair. The way it creaked on two legs left Sanji on edge, but it probably wasn't time for a lecture in etiquette. "Can't say I built myself for stealth. A guy's gotta announce his super presence, y'know?"

"Nobody will notice," Nami started, leaning over the table so that everybody had to set their eyes on her, "because we have two things going for us. First of all, we have the best sniper."

"Um what," Usopp said, sinking lower. "Why are you bringing me up. What do I have to do with this." Nami reached down and pulled him up by the armpit, forcing him up all the way on his feet; impressive, considering that she was shorter. Usopp retaliated by slumping as much as he could and generally looking miserable.

"Me and Usopp'll go on the Mini Merry and get close to town so I can start up the storm and Usopp can snipe out those chains."

Usopp raised a wilted finger. "Excuse me...you never asked me if I had anything that could do that..."

"If you have crazy wolf plants, then I'm pretty sure you have something that can go through wood. Also, you're the only one with a stealthy, long-range weapon. This is _literally_ a job for you."

"Yeah, it is," Usopp admitted tonelessly, and Sanji could tell he was finally defeated by the way he bothered to stand up straight and check his artillery.

"Second of all, we've got the best distraction. Hey, Luffy! Listen up!"

Luffy's head perked up like an eager dog who had just learned its name. Sanji could almost feel his arm tensing like a spring. Nami had the decency to warn him with a nod so that he could shake off Luffy's arm before she said, "Your target is that tower in the middle of the island. Go wild."

Their captain was off like one of Franky's lasers, his fading howls sounding a cross between a freed monster and the incoming roar of waves. In the distance, things started crashing. Everybody listened for a moment. But only a moment.

"Franky, you should prepare the Coup de Burst. It might take me a while to actually flood the place, but once I do, we should really move quick. We should start sailing closer towards the town."

"I can go down and push the town out of the way once Usopp's done," Sanji offered, just in case someone forgot that detail, but Nami lowered his hand with a simple glance towards his face.

"You really want to go out in the mud, in _that_ suit? Don't be silly, Sanji-kun. You're the one who's sneaking in the base."

"Am I?" he said faintly, not that he was questioning Nami's decision, of course not, but she had said it as though it could have been left unsaid and he would have liked to be informed beforehand. He looked down at his suit of the ocean depths. Nami did make a good point, admittedly. She always did.

"Of course! You're so good at sneaking around, anyways." The navigator lightly pushed Sanji's willingly limp body towards the door. "You should actually probably go now, before the ship moves. You're gonna need to get up behind the base and go in the back, and we're going to sail in the opposite direction. So it makes sense for you to get off here first."

Things were starting to progress at an alarming rate without him, what with Usopp heading up to his garden and Franky and Chopper and Brook pushing past him to get to their stations, and although he was starting to go towards the deck without objections, it was starting to feel like he really should raise one.

"He probably should not go alone."

Yes. Wait. What? No, that wasn't –

"I'm well-versed in espionage. And I feel that in this situation, nobody should be alone," said Robin, pushing everybody's chairs in as she stood up.

Nami stood by the door, scrunching her mouth pensively, before running a hand through her already harried hair. "Alright. We'll be short-handed, but we'll manage. Luffy's distraction's only going to be useful as long as he's making trouble _outside_ the base, so we all really need to get moving." She was in the middle of needlessly pushing Robin out by Sanji before something lit up behind her eyes and she led her eyes towards Sanji's pants. "Um...so it's probably still going to be muddy where you're walking, huh...?"

And so this was how Sanji found himself in a muddy forest in the dead of night, dragging a rented sleigh behind him while wearing a pair of galoshes in the most sickeningly bright shade of yellow he had ever seen in his life. He was almost certain it was illuminating the swampy forest floor as he tromped up the slope behind Robin. But at least his pants weren't getting dirty.

He could already feel the start of a storm, the way the wind ached at his knees, the smell of the air above the smell of mud, the gathering clouds that focused on a spot far away from him, and though it signaled the progression of the plan, it also signaled the progression of the plan to_make the rest of the crew act as decoys._

"They'll probably be okay," he said at Robin's back while the sleigh slid up the mud in a disgustingly easy way. "It's five against whatever marines Luffy hasn't knocked out, and none of them are our main fighters, but it'll probably be okay. Right? Right." If he really strained his ears, he could still hear the faint sound of trees toppling, the very earth giving way to the future Pirate King. With a force of nature like that, how could anything go wrong? (Ignoring the fact that Luffy was much too single-minded when it came to fighting, ignoring the fact that it was easy for him to lose track of his crew, not realize that they weren't keeping up, all because his view tended to narrow down to the goal and nothing else.)

"First Luffy and now the damn mosshead," he sighed. His arm was getting tired. He could hear thunder behind him, feel the wind moving towards one place. "Fucking...is the New World really this bad, or are we really getting that shitty? Fuck. I hope I'm not next. I'd fucking die of embarrassment if that shitty swordsman busted _me_ out."

"Does that mean that you will be making the most of _his_ embarrassment after this endeavor before that happens?"

"Hell fucking _yeah_ I will," Sanji replied, his smile briefly lighting up the shadows of the path. Did lollipops stain teeth too? He really hoped they didn't.

His boots stopped shlupping into the ground. The sleigh rattled against rocky dry land (dry land!) and he wondered if it was better to stifle the noise somehow. But other than picking it up, he couldn't really see any other way, and he wasn't a fan of carrying a hefty, _muddy_ thing in his fancily clothed arms. After a particularly bad struggle against a boulder that sent the sleigh skittering into his ankle, Sanji finally had to stop and consider the weight of his principles against the success of the mission and, admittedly, his own bodily health.

Robin stopped a few steps ahead of him, and the path was silent except for Sanji's hiss of pain as he told himself that his ankle was _fine,_ even though metal things hitting it hurt like _shit,_ and before he could even ask, she said, "I can take the sleigh for a while. I can silence it, after all."

He could feel the sleigh rise behind him by the way the rope slackened in his hand and he wordlessly handed it up to Robin as the sleigh seemed to scuttle on its own like a bug – no, _no_, don't even _think_ about that, quick, something graceful to match Robin...

There was absolutely no way to consider a multi-legged thing graceful or even _beautiful_ in any way. Even if the legs were actually arms growing like flowers off of cobblestones and errant rocks. Shit, even the _thought_ of multiple legs got him thinking about the little pieces of vermin, scurrying about the floors, living under rocks, with their _freaky eyes_ and _god_ he could feel that crawling sensation in his throat, the kind that told him that his train of thought was quickly headed towards Vomit City and he needed to _stop._

"Is it okay if I walk beside you?" Sanji mumbled, pressing past the sleigh monster and keeping an even pace by Robin's arm before he even got an answer.

She smiled gently at his paler-than-normal face and nodded her head up the path. "Nobody is coming our way. We're free to take up as much space as we want."

The entire island seemed to shake with the force of a cola-powered ship rocketing its way up a slope, the sudden light bright enough to illuminate his own shadow, tilting slightly to the left and getting cut off by the line of trees to his side. It lingered longer than lightning, reminding him of the flash of a camera. It almost felt like the entire world paused to have its picture taken. Even Robin stopped to turn back, her sharp eyes narrowing as though she could actually see the status of the Sunny – which, actually, she probably could.

"They're about to engage the marines. We should get to the Cliffs as fast as we can."

"Right," Sanji said, telling himself that the sound of clashing swords was just his imagination, mostly because there was just about an island between them and his ears simply weren't that sharp.

The two quickened their pace. The forest died away as the dirt did, and the path became sheer rock with a drop on either side. No wonder this place was called the Cliffs.

Without the trees blocking his vision, he could see the tower once more, looking slightly smaller from his new vantage point. He could see dark clouds still swimming around one end of the island. If he squinted, he could see flashes of gunfire in the planes that surrounded the base. And if he _really_ looked, he could see the _fucking big-ass ship_ that was just lounging around like nobody's business on the _fucking land._

Even if he had suggested it in the first place, the sight of such a sea-worthy vessel being in a place where it couldn't flourish was almost heart-breaking – if it wasn't for the big trail of broken trees that the Sunny left in its wake, making it seem less like a beached whale and more like a pissed-off sea king that was unsatisfied with the amount of shit that was currently wrecked.

"Well, it worked," he said, unable to say more than that.

"Let us hope this part will work as well."

Sanji turned around to find the sleigh (sans freaky legs) already set on the edge of the cliff and Robin settling in the front. He glanced down for one moment and _holy shit _no _wonder_ it was called the fucking _Cliffs._ Like a fucking rock _wall_ around half the island, and he could see intermittent ledges, and, wait a shit, were those _doors?_ Like, on the face of _sheer rock wall?_ And a fucking _welcome mat?_ People fucking live _in_ the fucking _Cliffs?_ What kind of _hateful demon shit_ possessed these poor people and got them all making _incredibly poor habitation choices?_ What the _fuck._

"I'm not sure the sleigh was built to survive a fucking free fall onto some rocks," Sanji commented as he took the chance to scrape mud off his galoshes, trying to make it sound as much of a comment as possible instead of something Usopp would say.

"There are some trees below us that could cushion our fall. The worst that could happen is that we break all of our bones," Robin said with her ever-enchanting smile. "Well, actually the worst that could happen is death, but it doesn't hurt to be optimistic." Sanji dearly wished her smile could actually offset the effect of her words.

"This isn't fucking worth it for the goddamn ambulatory algae," Sanji muttered as he backed away from the ledge and started squeezing into the sleigh behind Robin. It didn't quite seem like the sleigh was actually built for people sitting in it. It definitely wasn't built for more than one person, and Sanji felt himself pressed much too close to Robin's body. His legs surrounded hers on their way to the front of the sleigh, trying to meld with the sides so that they didn't muddy her up. He shifted his arms in various positions, trying to find the perfect place to put them so that they weren't in danger of getting crushed in the cramped space and they weren't being overly forward in regard to Robin. The idea of wrapping his arms around her made his throat burn with how sinful it felt, and so he just tried to grip the sides of the sleigh instead.

"Ready?" said Robin, with all the encouragement of a school teacher. Sanji didn't trust himself to lie convincingly, and so just made a grunt that could have been interpreted as anything. There was a slight lurch as the sleigh rose a few feet or so. Sanji clamped his teeth together tight, trying to ignore the images of multi-limbed monsters dancing through his head.

"On the count of three," Robin said. "One..." Below, her arms heaved the sleigh forward and back, almost like a battering ram. Even though Robin's head blocked most of his view, it couldn't block everything, and Sanji saw the land far below that was about to get really close _really soon._

"Two..."

Another heave-ho. Sanji let his mouth open enough to mutter a bunch of unintelligible obscenities and prayers to any deity that cared enough to listen.

"Three!"

The next few minutes were a blur of terror and free fall. His insides immediately collapsed as far up as they could go, felt like his throat, he could feel everything in there, his heart still pounding away against the walls of his lungs and his stomach. He couldn't see anything and it wasn't until they bounced off of someone's front porch (jolting his nethers something awful) that he realized it was because he was clenching his eyes shut. The view he had was very brief and extremely disconcerting, as it involved watching the land and the sky rotating around them and he immediately shut his eyes again and gripped tighter as he felt himself be thrashed this way and that, sometimes almost getting forced out of his seat, until he felt arms wrap around him like a seat belt. There wasn't anything in his mouth anymore. He really hoped the damn lollipop didn't land on his suit.

Robin might have been saying something, but Sanji couldn't hear, partially because of the sound of the wind drowning most everything out, partially because he was screaming bloody murder and that drowned everything else out. This sucked. This fucking _sucked._ Fucking goddamned fucklicking green assmouth _had_ to get captured like the stupidest baboon in the world and now he was going to die in a fucking _mudhole_ because of him, gonna get _embedded_ in the fucking _ground_ in a permanent grave far away from the ocean, like _fuck._ Fucking, he always hated the idea of his body being encased in earth, unable to move, and now the shitbrain fuckass was going to make that nightmare a reality. _Good fucking job, Roronoa fucking Zoro, _I _knew_ I hated you for a reason, you are _literally killing me._ Shitty fucker shitface.

The wind tore at the corner of his eyes and messed with his hair and, eventually, carried Robin's voice to his ears.

He opened his eyes, as though that would help him hear better, and he managed to gather that Robin was shouting his name and that she was gesturing at the treeline below them and the giant marine base in front and, without thinking too hard, he scooped Robin up in his arms and jumped sleigh.

It toppled end over end before crashing somewhere into some unfortunate trees and either smashing itself apart on rocks or embedding itself into the mud like a gravestone. Looked like they weren't returning the rental at all. Oh well. He just focused on pushing off the air with his ugly-ass galoshes, running off the excess adrenaline that pumped from the remnants of the most idiotic thing he had probably done in his life.

It took a minute for him to find a ledge on the building so the two of them could rest, but it felt like thirty and as soon as he let Robin down, he leaned over to rub his knees and take a breather. He wasn't a shitty old man, not yet, but given the shit he put his legs through, it sure felt like it sometimes.

"That wasn't so bad," said Robin, looking as prim as usual despite the deep breaths she took. She was already standing straight as though she hadn't gone through a hellish, near-death experience.

"That was fucking _terrible._" Sanji pressed his back against the wall. Even though they were still a ways up from the ground, at least giant shitty towers didn't usually move around at unreasonable speeds. He started to scrape mud off his boots again as he looked himself over for any stains on his new suit.

They were, supposedly, right on the other side of the rest of the crew delivering hell on some poor shits. It spoke to the size of the building that all he could really hear was rumbling thunder and a faint, formless cry that sounded like nobody and everybody. Once in a while, there was a tremor, but it felt like not his problem and was easy to disregard. More worrying were the tremors that traveled from the top of the base to where they stood, and how sometimes it rained debris and (Sanji found himself wincing in sympathy) errant marines. He pressed himself against the wall and glanced up.

"What the hell. Why the fuck is he going _up?_"

"Nobody reasonably thought that he would find the brig on his own. That's what we are here for, after all."

"Well _yeah,_ but you'd think a full-time pirate would at least have the basic understanding of marine architecture, even with the unfortunate birth defect of having shit for brains."

Robin chuckled at that, and Sanji had to listen hard to be sure that it was genuine enjoyment of his crass mouth or she was just being polite. She gestured to the building. "Shall we?"

There were no windows large enough for them to squeeze through. After all, what kind of base would be secure if anybody with some good jumping legs could just get in? Rather than just kick in the wall, Sanji agreed that the best option was just going through the back door. It was the closest they could get to the bottom floor, anyways, and an ambush on the other side wasn't likely. The door was made of sturdy metal, but a few well-placed kicks at least got a wedge open that Robin could see through, allowing her to place an extra eye in the most strategic position to manage an extra arm to grow on the other side of the door and simply open it. The hinges moaned with abuse as they shoved through and started their quest to find the stairs down.

As expected, the hallways were cleared of any marines. They all were certainly more concerned with the human disaster currently wrecking through their upper floors. As a result, Sanji and Robin had a pretty calm espionage walk through the place. He still peered around corners every once in a while, but it was obvious that they weren't in any particular danger of being found out.

What wasn't obvious was the way to the stairs, or at least an elevator or something. Sanji was beginning to regret the jab he made at Luffy's directional capabilities, but to be fair, he said _basic_ understanding of marine architecture, nothing about specifics.

It was only when Robin mentioned that they were starting to go in circles that Sanji finally halted. She pointed down at the mud they were tracking. "At least we won't have much trouble figuring out where we had been already."

Sanji looked at the footprints behind them and glared at the footprints in front of them, as though trying to discern divine meaning in their arrangement. "This is bullshit," he finally announced, his toe tapping a warning on the tiled floor. "Did they fucking get inspiration from the minotaur labyrinth or some shit?"

"I'm sure given some time, I could map out the building in my mind," Robin said, brushing her hand against a smooth wall that was carefully emblazoned with the letter 'D.' Down the halls that circled them, there was a lack of anything that looked like a cell door. "This entire base is a simple, circular tower. It makes sense to have the stairs somewhere on the circumference, I would think. Granted, the diameter of this building is rather large, and walking along the edge would take some time unless we were lucky enough to – "

"I've got a better idea," Sanji huffed, his galoshes tapping faster as he started to grit his teeth. "Fuck the stairs."

It was, admittedly, a lot easier to gain the leverage needed to kick the floor in when he was able to stand on his hands, but flipping himself forwards with no hands at all still had some power in his momentum and he was able to cave the floor in with a few of those. He fell down the resulting hole and almost slipped on the rubble when he landed because his damn piece of shit galoshes didn't even bother to have good grip. Ugly _and_ stupid. Just like the goddamn piece of shit barbarian that he was supposed to be saving.

Maybe he could fit that in some sort of demeaning nickname later on.

He leaned over to rub at his ankle while Robin slid down next to him. She tilted her head, her eyes instantly drifting to his feet. "Something wrong?"

"These damn shoes aren't really made for kicking buildings apart," he admitted with a grimace.

"I'll keep my eyes out for any errant footwear."

He had, apparently, kicked his way down into some sort of storage room. If there were any extra shoes in here, then they were irrecoverable under the debris.

He kicked down the door, stomped a little way down the hall outside, and kicked another hole in the floor.

Robin said nothing as he continued to proceed downstairs in this manner, except to note that the toes of his boots were starting to fray.

"Take mine," she said.

"I can do it without shoes."

"You don't have to."

Robin's galoshes were largely the same, garishly yellow, with the only difference being the technicolor sunflowers decorating its surface. If they were to be damaged, he was pretty sure they wouldn't be missed. The sight of Robin in his own mangled galoshes while he wore pristine (except for the mud) ones made him feel downright villainous though.

"Oh, don't make that face. Let's not ruin your toes on top of every other injury you have accrued over the course of two years." Robin smiled as Sanji tried to wipe his expression of the puppy-dog pout he had unthinkingly put on. "It makes the most sense."

Right. It did. If you had someone kicking his way through a place with shitty shoes, the best thing to do was replace them if they fell apart with whatever was available. He just had to keep thinking _logically_ like he always did...except during times like these, when he was just an idiot.

The building rumbled again, fainter this time, as though trying to remind him that there were things to worry about other than keeping all women's feet properly shod. He scuffed the sunflower galoshes against the floor, set his mouth in a thin line, tried to feel like he wasn't failing someone somewhere. "Right."

"By the way, may I ask if I could possibly help?"

Sanji stopped glancing at her somewhat exposed feet. "How do you mean?"

"I've been watching you as you've been kicking down," Robin replied, gesturing with fingers spinning around each other. "It does not seem like the most efficient method of dealing force into the floor. Am I right?"

"Well...yeah, I guess," he said, starting to play with his bangs. "Usually I'd – " he broke off. It was still uncomfortable to vocalize just how far his hands had been damaged. He shrugged and showed off his hands instead.

"A handstand kick?" He nodded. "Then perhaps I can help after all."

He didn't so much feel the arm growing out of his shoulder as catch it in his peripheral vision. Sanji flinched away from it, only to bounce his head against the arm growing out his other shoulder. The two of them extended straight up out of his suit, looking frustratingly mismatched with the rest of him. When he stared straight ahead, he could still see them at the fringes of his sight. Robin laughed at how uncomfortable he probably looked.

"So," he started, a half-octave higher than he usually spoke, "we're just – you want me to – I'm gonna...stand on _your_ hands." This _really_ was the weirdest day in terms of the concentration of new experiences.

"That was my idea."

"Have you even..._done_ this sort of thing before?"

Robin smiled. "Not really."

Sanji waved a hand around and stopped abruptly when that resulted in one of Robin's arms brushing against his cheek. "How's the – I mean...the _balance..._"

"We'll just have to try. I don't want you to have to do more work than you need to." With a voice that lightly pushed at his back, Robin added, "Just jump like you're trying to crack your head open on the floor."

That remark pulled Sanji's lips tighter. "Robin-chan," he said, "I'll be the first to say that your morbidity is charming as shit, but sometimes you could stand to be more..._encouraging._"

He instinctively winced, already forming an ingratiating apology in his mind, but much to his surprised, Robin laughed. Not one of her fluttering chuckles or amused smiles, but a full-blown _laugh_ that bent her back like a reed in the wind, something so refreshingly joyful and genuine in a starkly military place like this. She straightened up and said, "I'll be sure to remember that."

Sanji's first shot was a failure. He just couldn't suppress the instinct to protect his face, and his shitty hands ended up on the floor instead of Robin's and they supported him by not supporting him at all, leaving him to topple on his shoulder and tumble once.

His second try was marginally better, considering that he didn't fall flat on his head, but Robin's hands didn't stay on the floor and he ended up accidentally doing a flip. And though he definitely took pride on his acrobatic abilities, it wasn't quite what he wanted at the moment.

The third attempt was the charm. Keeping his hands firmly grabbing the silk lining of his pockets and pretending that the weight on his shoulders were his real arms, Sanji gave a running start, let himself fall forward, felt all the momentum travel from his arms to his legs to the tip of his toes and let himself _bend._

His entire body recoiled from the force he pushed into the floor and he managed to ride the tide back to his feet. In front of him was another hole.

Robin set a hand (a real hand) on his shoulder. "Less work," she said. What an angel. Who else would stop you to make sure you didn't waste energy?

They both had plenty of time to practice collaborating with their various body parts until they were able to reliably break through the floor on their first try. With Robin's help, Sanji blew through the next ten floors like an especially violent breeze and with the lack of resistance, the two couldn't help but create a rather easy-going atmosphere between them filled with some jokes, teasing (at Sanji's expense), and general complaining about idiot swordsmen who couldn't bother to navigate their way out of a room.

So it was a rather big shock when, fifteen floors down, Sanji jumped into another hole only to land right in front of a marine officer.

He froze, partly because she (she!) was cute – short hair, a constellation of freckles, wide eyes and thick eyebrows like kittens – mostly because she had instantly pointed a gun at him as soon as he appeared.

She seemed just as startled as he was, though, and blinked behind her glasses as she took in his ridiculously classy appearance. She trembled, probably a result from being so obviously far from the rest of her fellows – and what exactly was she doing so far down anyways? Sanji quickly appraised her outfit as well. It wasn't quite as flashy as a full officer of the Navy. So she was a recruit. A potentially hiding recruit.

Her eyes trailed down to his shitty galoshes and they quirked in puzzlement. "Huh? Are you one of those mud people? What are you _doing_ here?"

Even as Sanji bristled at being mistaken for someone who would _actually live_ in a _literal mud-hole_, he put his hands up and a placating grin on, trying to look like the most helpless citizen in the entire world. "I'm just, y'know, trying to hide?"

It was the shittiest lie in the whole damn universe, and he could see suspicion immediately take over in the way her eyes narrowed and her hands gripped the pistol. He probably should have taken the time to come up with a cover story. But then again, what the hell kinda cover story could even be _feasible_ here? Uh, what other options did he have? Did he have other options? What did he usually do in situations like this? Usually he would...k...ick...? Maybe he should kick? Would that be good? Maybe? Kicking?

His brain sluggishly sent an impulse towards his leg to do _something_, but didn't quite make it before the recruit suddenly caught sight of something behind him.

"N-Nico Robin!" she shouted, her arms twitching the pistol towards its new target, and Sanji whirled around just in time to see Robin land on the pile of rubble he had made and, at the sound of a clatter, he turned back to find the recruit with a few extra arms, all of which were working against her quite a bit. Both of her regular arms were being twisted behind her back at odd angles, which was somehow enough to unbalance her and send her careening towards the corner of a bunk bed, hitting her head right on the post. Sanji found himself scanning the floor for the missing pistol and saw that it had spun towards the far wall. After he scooped it up, he heard a voice behind him slurring, "C-captain, 's Porsh...Portia reportin'..."

The recruit had not quite been knocked out and was speaking into what could only be a baby Den Den Mushi. She managed to get out "Pirates spotted...minus thuurdy – " before another pair of arms grew out of her back and twisted her neck with a sickening crack. She slumped, eyes disturbingly blank.

There were many things Sanji could stomach, or at least try to forget about, but watching as the blooming arms retreated and left the body of the recruit, leaving it to fall over prone like a sack of apples, it was enough to leave a melancholy so heavy that he could almost faint under the pressure. The only thing that brought his head back from the buzz of panic was the sound of the pistol clacking in his too-tight grip. He tried to let it hang by his side.

Robin was kneeling by the body of the recruit, and when he approached, she leaned upwards and dangled a pair of black platform heels in front of him. "Real shoes," she said with a smile.

Sanji peered at the body instead trying to get a close look as far away as possible. "Did you – is she – "

Robin's smile faded slightly, and she lowered the shoes. "I may have made my living as an assassin, but normal humans cannot simply break necks. She is unconscious. Though she might have medical problems when she wakes up. Would you like to take her shoes?"

"As long as we leave her ours," he maintained, already kicking off his galoshes. It would be a poor replacement, but it would at least let his mind rest easier.

"I would advise heavily against spending time here. She has managed to alert the base to our presence, and it is likely we will encounter marines if we do not hurry," Robin said. Still, she didn't stop him as he slipped his galoshes onto the recruit's feet and, after a moment's thought, slid a pillow under her head and tucked the bunk's comforter around her body.

It was only when he started to struggle with the platform heels that she spoke again. "Do you despise me for what I did?"

He glanced up. She didn't seem concerned with whatever answer he would give. Her face only betrayed a detached sort of curiosity.

"No, never," he said without hesitation, clipping the straps together and hopping up. The new angle that his feet were oriented in was not necessarily new to him, but it was still pretty damn weird to feel like he was balancing on his toes like some shitty ballerina. At least the heels weren't too small for him – the recruit had given the impression of a young lady, but her feet were actually a little bigger than his. He rocked on his new shoes and tapped them against the floor, trying to get comfortable. "I mean – y'know, some shit has to be done. I...I know that. I actually should've...when I had the chance, but..."

An angry sigh brushed through his lips as he tried a few practice steps, trying not to get too embarrassed by how wobbly he was. "It's good that you came. I wouldn't have been able to fucking...and then the whole thing would've gone to shit 'cause I'm a huge idiot."

Robin watched as he kicked the air a few times with a lot more vehemence that was necessary for practicing, catching him when he stumbled backwards from his own momentum. He jumped away from her and pretended to be busy shuffling his feet towards the door.

"Idiot or no, I feel the need to commend you for your self-control," Robin said, in that optimistically cultured way.

Sanji didn't look back as he opened the way to the hallway. "How's that?"

"You did not fall prey to a debilitating nosebleed."

Instantly, Sanji collapsed against the far wall and ground his head against it as he buried his face in his hands. "Ohhh my _godd_ why. Why did you have to bring _that_ shit up."

Robin laughed, but the hands growing out of his shoulders patted his hair with empathy. "Think about it as a sign of improvement."

"An achievement in not fucking bleeding to death in the shittiest way possible." Despite himself, Sanji couldn't help but snort at his own past shittiness. Sure, it was a good thing that he didn't melt into a puddle of blood at the sight of the female form anymore, but the fact that it had happened in the first place was pretty damn pathetic. What kind of man would lose control over his own self-image like that? Completely unacceptable.

"Let's not talk about that shit anymore. C'mon, everybody knows we're here, so let's just hurry." Sanji gestured towards the floor with his pistol and Robin nodded.

"Ready when you are," she said, and the arms on his shoulders tensed.

With a click of his heels and an impressive jump, Sanji swung his leg down, whereupon his shoe instantly slipped off halfway, leaving his bare heel to connect with the floor.

Even without shoes, the force of his kick was enough to collapse the floor. He just wasn't expecting to use his actual foot to do it. With an especially emphatic "Fuck!" and some flailing of his legs, Sanji fell into the hole he made and lost his other shoe.

At least this one didn't lead to another marine.

Robin jumped down and helped him to a sitting position. "Those shoes are too big for you."

"Not that big!" Sanji insisted, hooking the platforms back over his heels again. "Just a little!"

"Even a little is too much. Your feet will just constantly slip out when you walk. Or kick."

"_Swell._ Guess it was too convenient for the one marine we run into to wear fucking _dress shoes._" And now he had a limp. Great. He could kick lots of shit unprotected, but not really get out of it _unharmed._ At least he had been using his heel and not his toes. That could have _really_ ruined his day. Still, taking a step made a twinge vibrate up his tendons in an uncomfortable way, and that probably meant that foot was out of commission. "I'm never going to wear heels ever again," he muttered.

"That's a shame," Robin said as she examined the back of his feet. "I would think heels would give your attacks more punch. And besides, they do look good on you."

It took all of Sanji's willpower to retain enough composure to not do something stupid like trip right on his nose. It wasn't enough composure to stop his face from flushing the brightest shade of red on the visible spectrum. He whirled around to stare wide-eyed at Robin, looking almost like a deer about to flee. "Wh-wh-wh – "

"Of course, stilettos would probably suit you better. And the heel would have a smaller point of focus for the force of your kicks to channel through."

"That's not what I – you're missing the – I, I'm only wearing these 'cause there's no better option! I can't just wear heels _normally!_"

Robin, intelligent, sweet Robin, who would obviously know better than him in most circumstances, tilted her head. "Why not?"

"_Because,_" Sanji said louder than was necessary, "I'm just, y'know, I'm a _guy _and if I just went around wearing _these, _then I, I'd be _laughed_ at, wouldn't I? And, shit, the other guys – "

He stopped with a surprised squawk. One of the hands growing out of his shoulders had begun to pull at his cheek in a manner that was not quite painful, but enough to stop him talking. Robin stared at him from across the hall.

"Don't think so much. We can try on some of my old shoes when this is over. Does that sound good?" Her smile was radiant, like a benevolent teacher, and Sanji found himself unable to say anything for reasons other than the fact that Robin was still pulling at his cheek.

And for all their problems, heels _were _nice. He loved the sound they made on the street, a distinctive clacking that could be elegant or intimidating depending. Dress shoes didn't do that. Dress shoes just sounded dull. He had tried to forget about how it had felt to wear heels, but the experience was engraved in his head, set there with all the learning he had to do to even walk in the shitty things. It had been even harder than make-up, in his opinion. He had tried to leave the entire experience behind him, just like most everything about that damn island, because the way it had all just caught on, he felt ashamed. Because...well, because. And if the rest of the crew ever found out, he thought...well, he thought something bad.

And here was Robin, acting like the idea of him in heels wasn't hilarious or even _disgusting._ As though he pulled it off, even. And that was...it was surprising, but really, it was surprising how surprising it was. He had a long way to go before he would get rid of these sort of thoughts, huh.

Sanji nodded.

"I'm looking forward to it," Robin said, and her smile somehow grew kinder as she let go of Sanji's cheek."For now, however, I think I know how to deal with those shoes."

There was a strange feeling down at Sanji's feet, and when he looked down, he could see another heel growing out of his, like someone had just lopped off a bit of flesh and grafted it to the back of his feet. It filled out the rest of the space nicely.

Sanji tried not to make a face. "Robin-chan...your power is very useful and amazing, but it's also kinda_weird_ sometimes." And creepy.

It took a while for Sanji to get used to the other extra body parts now attached to him. It felt _extremely_ weird to have the shoes suddenly fit but still not feel like it did, not to mention the fucking bit of foot growing out of him was hell on his balance on top of his new limp, but it was ultimately helpful. The floor got pulverized under his heel. He got through five floors in quick succession with no complaints. The heels didn't even break off, which was a miracle and a blessing because he didn't know what the _shit _he would do if he was left with the platforms without the heel.

The best part was, they had finally found actual jail cells.

Not so great was the crowd of marines waiting.

Must've taken an elevator or some shit. He had expected marines to be on their tail, but he should have really thought about this outcome too.

"Give yourselves up!" said some shithead in the front, who even cares. Sanji stood on his toes and started counting.

"Not actually that many," he commented, feeling Robin's extra appendages flutter away.

"I suppose they couldn't spare much with our captain still in the building," Robin replied with a quiet smile.

He looked up at the ceiling. "Oh yeah. Hard to remember that shithead. We're so far down we can't hear him."

The marine in charge of the squad spluttered as he and the many guns under his command were ignored. "Surrender or we will fire on you!" he added, hinting very strongly that it wasn't a suggestion.

"Oh, sure, just open a fucking cell and we'll let ourselves in, why don't we," Sanji groused, waving his gun irately.

The squad leader frowned. "Is that your declaration of surrender?'

"_Hell _no! Like I'd kick my way down this shitty place just to _give up!_"

"I see. Thank you for clarifying." Sanji scowled. What an aggravating man. Who had the authority to fill them with holes. "Fire at will!"

"Sanji, the door," Robin said sharply, and Sanji instinctively reached out to his right and pulled at the handle he found. The heavy metal door of the cell swung open at a horribly ponderous rate (apparently, these marines didn't bother to lock 'em when they were empty), but he was able to get behind it before getting shot full of unwanted metal shit. On the other side, he could see Robin doing the same.

"We can't hide in these rooms, they're _cells_," he shouted above the gunfire. Robin was making her signature pose.

"I don't intend to hide," she replied before two roaring masses of giant arms shot out from the surface of the doors and easily crushed the left and right flanks of the mob. The surviving marines stopped their attack out of sheer shock as they stared dumbly at the bodies piled up against the wall behind them.

"Fucking hell," Sanji breathed, peering out from behind the door. "Like I said, that power of yours is _fucking amazing._"

"I'm sorry I couldn't get all of them," she said. "Can you handle the rest?"

It seemed like the initial shock was starting to wear off the group of marines. The remaining ones were gathering away from the walls and raising their rifles again. Sanji raised his own pistol in answer. "Shit yeah, haven't gotten action in a _long _time."

Robin's eyes shot towards his gun. "That's a tool for killing, you know. Not fighting."

It felt weird to be told that by a self-professed assassin. But he got her meaning. Despite his posturing, he never really had a kill to his name. He had declared killing intent in the past. Felt it too. But actually having blood on his hands...he wasn't sure what that would feel like. As a cook, he was well aware of the cycle of life and death; animals died to feed other animals. Yet at the same time, a cook was responsible for the lives of others. And a gun, even when it was shooting to merely wound, was an unthinking tool of death that could end up killing anyways. At least with his kicks, he could walk away without any burdens on his conscious.

He had always intended the gun to be back-up, a last resort, since much of his usual arsenal was weakened. But there wasn't really time to express this and all his thoughts, so he simply nodded and said as solemnly as he could, "I know."

Robin's dark eyes lingered on him for a few seconds before breaking off. "I'll try to find the keys."

And with that, she was off like the barrage of bullets that started up again down the hall. Sanji gripped the gun, looked grimly at his too-big shoes, and kicked them off. And after listening to the rapid shots and feeling them jolt against the door at his back, he shot back up the hole he had kicked in too quickly for the bullets to even catch him.

The marines with the sharpest eyes held their fire, blinking confusedly at a blur they thought they saw, and the rest of them followed in a domino effect of cease fire as they saw their fellows.

"Did he just go back up?" One of them asked, looking behind at another marine for confirmation, or at least solidarity. "Did he – should, uh, we go up too?"

He was answered not by his allies, but by a mess of rubble and dust quite suddenly collapsing in front of them. The front line yelped and leapt back, and all of them gaped as the smoke cleared to reveal the figure that had recently disappeared.

Sanji was facing the wrong way. He slowly looked over his shoulder, seeing the people that he clearly expected to be in front of him instead of behind.

"Well shit," he said, before spinning to kick the nearest guy in his face.

There was chaos after that, the pirate breaking into their ranks and rendering everybody's guns too dangerous to use. The order was hastily given to draw swords, but the hall was too close-quarters and crowded for that to be useful either. Even with Robin having handily taken out two-thirds of the troop, there was still enough left over for them to not be easily spread out. Sanji still wasn't in his top form; he couldn't trust his hands to reliably hold up a full wok, never mind his goddamn _body,_ he hadn't actually been in an actual fight _alone_ in months, and now _both_ of his heels were bruised and tender from doing things they just weren't built to do (that is, kicking through stone floors). And despite that, he had the advantage.

They couldn't make effective attacks with their swords, unable to swing wide enough to even keep him away, so it was just a matter of dodging their pathetic attacks, getting in range, and kicking the shit out of them. And keeping aware of everybody else around him who wanted a cut of his back. And making sure he had enough room to maneuver himself so that he didn't just go crashing into some guy while trying to jump away from a wild swing. While stopping his own instinct to block swords with his unprotected feet because he was so fucking used to doing that with that fucking green slug. No problem.

He ducked under a sword, swept a marine's feet with one leg and caught him in the air with the other before juggling him straight into the poor guy behind him. There was someone coming on the right, taking advantage of him being airborne, and so he carried his momentum in a circle and managed to catch him by the neck and snapped his ankle down towards the floor so that the marine bounced. His other leg, still being in the air, made itself useful by continuing with the motion of his body and propelling him forward through a line of marines right in front of him.

It was kinda funny (mostly not), but the more he carved through these marines, the tougher it was getting to get an attack in. With most of the attending bodies now littering the floor, Sanji found himself stepping on something fleshy rather than firm and, it turns out, human bodies weren't very good footholds. On top of that, with less people crowding the place, the marines were starting to get enough room to actually use their weapons. Which was. Shitty.

Someone swiped a sword at him, an _actual_ swipe this time, and he had to back off, couldn't get close. His legs didn't have the reach of an actual weapon, of course not. There was another sword somewhere behind him and he leaned forward at an impossible angle, his nose to the floor, and trusted his leg to reach out backwards and not get sliced up. It connected with a wrist instead of a blade and he heard it embed itself into the ceiling.

Above that noise, however, was the cocking of a rifle, and he pointed his pistol towards it and shot blindly near the ground, somehow managing to miss everything. He sure as hell wasn't a sharpshooter. But it at least got him some space as any marine in range tried to scrabble away from the wild shots.

The man that he had recently disarmed was fumbling for his own gun and so Sanji rewarded his efforts with a backwards butterfly kick that knocked him into the wall. Eight left.

He briefly considered getting to a place in the hall that was less body-ridden, but if he got too far from the marines, then they'd get out their guns again and that would absolutely be worse. Still, having to keep his balance on all these unconscious shitheads was a pain. Scooping one of them up with his feet like a soccer ball, he launched it towards someone on the left and delivered a brutal axe kick to his head while he was distracted. Seven. The marine that had tried aiming at him before was aiming at him again, and the other marines had wisely decided to back off so that he could get a clear shot. Sanji ducked down as a bullet whizzed above and came back up with a hefty guy in his arms, head lolling to the side. As the remaining marines voiced their obvious complaints about this, he struggled to heft the body up to make an appropriate cover for himself. His hands shook with the effort, the vibrations carrying over to his gun, which misfired into a wall and sent chunks of rock through someone's foot, leaving him screaming on the floor. Whoops.

With a mighty heave, Sanji managed to toss the marine he was holding at the one with the shaking rifle and knocked him out fairly quickly. Then he leapt to the one with the wounded foot and kicked him into a merciful sleep. Five.

There were three marines to his left and two who were much closer to his right. He turned towards those ones and sat back, braced himself against the floor available, and used his feet to shove a pile of marines towards them like a small wave that tripped them up. Tilting his head backwards to check on the other three, he was greeted with an extremely unwelcome sight of a sword swinging straight towards his face. Somehow, Sanji rolled backwards enough to catch the marine's wrist between his ankles, something that surprised both of them, and they stared at each other in the weirdest position that either of them had probably ever been in until Sanji had the bright idea of rolling forwards again and flipping the marine with him, bringing his head cracking down against the ground. Four.

The rest had surrounded him at this time so he didn't bother to stop – he rolled onwards, over the recently-felled marine, and managed to push himself off the floor hard enough to plant the soles of his feet in the two marines in front of him. Rather than get distracted by the twinges of pain traveling from his heels up, Sanji brought his arm up as the three of them fell, leveling his gun at one of the last two. It was not his best idea, considering that he already wasn't a great shot and he was most likely even worse when he was upside-down, but (un)luckily, he didn't get a chance to go through with his plan because the gun slipped right out of his grasp.

"No," said Sanji, all of his unfeeling fingers fumbling with a weapon that was quickly getting out of his reach. All he managed to do was to send it tumbling barrel over grip. "Shit, fuuuuuu – " was all he managed to get out before he hit the floor. The next second, the pistol followed suit and it discharged straight into the ceiling.

He didn't give himself time to feel sorry about the state of his head and also maybe his dignity. With a backwards roll and a quick spin to scoop up the gun, Sanji rushed the last two marines, who were busy wincing and trying to figure out whether the bullet hit either of them, and delivered a flying kick straight into one of their faces. He felt the shifting of bone under his feet, nose and teeth giving in to his force because it was just easier that way. One left.

As his latest victim went flying straight to the end of the hall, Sanji hopped off and landed next to the last marine, aiming the pistol straight at him. The marine, who was obviously having trouble keeping track of what had just happened over the last few minutes, froze up like a kid doing a presentation. Sanji tried his best to aim at a non-vital part and pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked.

Both of them stared at each other with blank faces. The world slowed to an awkward pause. I should have counted the bullets, Sanji realized. You should have counted the bullets, the marine's expression agreed.

Sanji threw the pistol straight at the marine's head and it was enough to tip him over the edge of unconsciousness.

All done.

As the last body hit the floor, Sanji allowed himself to lean against the nearest wall and pant out the palpitations of his heart until everything stopped being a shivering, sweaty, pounding mess.

That was a lot more work than it should have been.

But he did it. He could still hold his own.

He noticed that his arms were shaking even if they pretty much did squat. It was his legs that really should be giving out, especially now that the adrenaline of the moment was starting to flush away and the actual strain of the fight was making itself known. But, bless them, they were trying their best to support him in his time of need, even as his hamstrings screamed their intent to murder and his toes cried in a solitary corner on their own.

He looked over the sea of bodies and realized that he wouldn't be able to find those black heels he had borrowed. Well, not that he had any lack of shoes to choose from now, but as he wobbled his way around unconscious marines as nimbly as he could, he winced at the thought of rubbing his sore feet against leather. Or against _anything_ except for nice hot water. It was, of course, much more sensible to pilfer some shoes anyways because stepping on errant rubble or whatever the shit was a lot better with something between it and soft skin, but he was feeling childish and kind of dizzy so he wobbled off in the direction he remembered Robin going and promptly stumbled against the nearest door.

"Take a break," he half-heard, and squinting vaguely, he managed to make out a Robin-ish sort of figure.

"Robin-chan!" Sanji smiled as though the benevolent Guanyin herself had descended to tend to his mortal suffering, but also like he was slightly tipsy. "How are you?"

"I think I should be asking you that. Though by the looks of things, you're better off than everybody else. You did well." Sanji's chest swelled near bursting with sunshine and he just stood there against the wall, grinning like a loon. He imagined that Robin smiled back, but couldn't exactly tell because his head was flying a merry journey across the sea, declaring just how ridiculously content he was.

He wasn't too far gone to miss what Robin said next, however. "I found the jailer's office, but I was not able to find any keys. I did find where Zoro is being kept, however – he's in a holding cell near the stairs."

"How's he?"

"Sleeping," she said, and he made a face like he was just offered a basket of rotten eggs.

"So you think one of these assholes got the key?" Sanji asked, gesturing inaccurately around the piles of men they left behind. "Man, what a pain..."

"Not so much when you can search multiple men at once," Robin said, arms already sprouting around the hallway and piling marines into corners. Her eyes flicked over, catching sight of Sanji pushing himself off the wall. "You should sit down."

"It'll be faster if I help, right? We're already taking too long, we can't ask the others to just keep – "

A couple more hands sprouted on the wall behind Sanji and firmly grabbed his shoulders. It didn't take much force for his knees to buckle and land him on the ground. "You need to rest. I can finish this up in a few minutes and the others know how to handle themselves. Alright?"

Sanji pouted, but leaned back and stretched out his legs as he watched Robin's methodical search. It was amazingly calming, in a way, and it helped to stop his brain from feeling like it was drowning. Every single batch of arms were in constant motion, like a factory line of searching pockets and moving bodies, dumping them in sad, rejected piles. The marines were probably going to have a lot of questions when they woke up.

Like she promised, Robin was finished within a few minutes. The jailer had indeed been one of the men that ambushed them and his ring of keys now swung around Robin's dainty finger. Sanji graciously took her helping hand and hefted himself up.

"There'll probably be more coming, right?" he asked, looking up at the ceiling. Robin could only shrug and start jogging down to where Zoro was being held, but slowed when Sanji could only follow with a limping gallop.

"Hold this," she said, tossing him the ring of keys. Sanji fumbled with his catch and gave a muffled squeak when Robin scooped him onto her back while he was distracted.

"Okay, wait, no, please," he tried not to mumble, pushing his embarrassment away with some flavor of minor indignation. "Look, I can just – I'm not – I don't want to – " But Robin was already heading off at a running pace.

"This is faster. And you're not so heavy," she said. "Shouldn't you eat more?"

"I'm a cook, I _know_ how much I should eat. I'm just not heavy 'cause I'm not entirely made of muscle and scar tissue like _some_ assholes I could mention." At this point, Sanji had to give up or fall off and hit his head again. He opted to lean forward and hang his arms around Robin's shoulders. "I'm a grown-ass adult, this is _really_ humiliating."

"I could carry you bridal style."

Sanji's face twisted in a mixture of horror and hypothetical embarrassment. "_No._"

Robin laughed the rest of the way to Zoro's holding cell, which he considered highly unnecessary.

Like she said, Zoro was sleeping. He had somehow found it comfortable to sleep sitting cross-legged while his arms were wrenched behind him by heavy shackles that covered his forearms. Sanji was too preoccupied by thoughts of incoming marines and the fight outside and _fucking getting bridal carried by Robin_ that he didn't curse out the damn swordsman too much about that and simply jumped off Robin's back and unlocked the door.

The swordsman at least had the decency to wake up at the sound of the barred door sliding open and he raised his head with a bleary expression. "Oh good, you're finally here."

It was such a ridiculously cavalier answer in such a bleak environment that Sanji couldn't help but stare, speechless, like Zoro had delivered a scathing verbal beat-down instead. Zoro squinted at him in confusion. "What the fuck are you _wearing._"

It took one second for Sanji to start sliding the door closed again. Zoro managed to cross the cell in that time and jam his foot in place before it slammed shut.

He had clearly expected this to happen, but he apparently hadn't expected Sanji to use such force and his toes visibly curled and thrashed. "_Holy shit,_ you _asshole cook,_ what the _fuck_ did you do _that_ for?!"

Sanji was still trying to shut the cell despite the obvious futility, his hands shaking with the effort. "You son of a _sea anus, _I can't _believe_ that you fucking got yourself kidnapped, caused all this fucking trouble, and here you are, treating this like some sort of shitty _vacation!_ I've had it up to _here_ with your bullshit, you can just lie here scumming up this fucking prison, 'cause I sure as hell ain't wasting any effort on a _shitty languid rock_ who isn't fucking _serious_ about this shit!"

"Then good luck explaining to the captain why you're fucking coming back _empty-handed._"

There was a few more seconds of the struggle between foot and cell door before Sanji sighed and leaned his head against the bars. "Fine. Whatever." With another squeal, the door slid open once more. "Turn around and I'll unlock your shackles."

Zoro did so.

Sanji slammed the door shut and locked it.

"Alright, Robin-chan, we better hurry if we want to meet up with everybody," he said, spinning around and jangling the keys cheekily around his finger.

Zoro's face looked like the burning of an entire nation under siege. "YOU BASTARD SON OF A BITCH'S ASSHOLE FUCK SWIRLY SHIT SNOBBY IDIOT ANAL" was all Sanji made out before the words devolved into some sort of prehistoric language he couldn't decipher. He waved back.

"Haha, see you never, I hope you fall off a stick and land on your nose so you smell just how much the earth hates your shitty guts."

"Sanji," said Robin, trying to look stern despite the situation, "we really can't just leave him."

It was the saddest fucking sentence he had ever heard. But it was true, and that just made it even sadder. With a sigh longer than the universe, Sanji said, "_Fine,"_ and unlocked the door again. Zoro, not one to be fooled twice, instantly barged his way out.

"_Fucker,_" he snorted.

"I think he wants you to unlock his cuffs."

Sanji took one look at the bent, panting ragebeast in front of him and said, "I think he wants me to do that so he can kill me. Maybe there's a reason he should be locked up."

Zoro's headbutted his chin, which didn't help tempers, but Robin finally calmed everybody down enough so that she could take the keys from Sanji and finally free Zoro, standing between them the whole time even as they made faces at each other over her shoulders.

"_Where the hell are my swords,_" he snarled.

"Didn't bother looking," Sanji shot back. "Unlike you, we put priority on _actual living beings_ instead of inanimate objects."

"I'm not leaving without them," Zoro growled. "I still haven't repaid you for before, you bubblegum bastard."

It took a while for Sanji's brain to catch up to the change in topic and the reason thereof, but once he did, his expression somehow soured even more. "Are you still fucking hung up on_that_? You were scheduled for _execution_ and I just _freed you_ – "

"I saw them in the jailer's office," Robin interrupted before another fight could break out. "I didn't pick them up while I was there, but we could easily get them now. It's just right up ahead – "

Right as Zoro broke off into a run, Robin grew several arms along the floor and grabbed his legs so he landed flat on his face.

"Slow down you piece of shit, you running off gave us all this trouble in the first place," Sanji said as he waltzed up and poked the back of Zoro's head with his foot. He gave a condescendingly parental sigh. "When are you gonna grow up and think about how you affect other people?"

"I'm _so _gonna shave your fucking head," Zoro grumbled into the floor.

"No thanks."

It was a tense walk down the rest of the hallway with poor Robin in the middle, stuck with negotiating the invisible firestorm around her. The walk could have only lasted a few minutes, but the pure ire that built up in the atmosphere could have fueled a worldwide war.

The tension broke when Zoro was finally led to his swords and he picked them up happily, or as happy as he could get when Sanji was around to piss him off.

"Greeeeat," the cook drawled, leaning against the door, "you got your pointy sticks now. I hope you don't got other shit to deal with 'cause we're kinda in a rush?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it already. Quit your whining, I'll get us out in a second." He was already slipping his customary white-hilted sword into his mouth and preparing a stance that Sanji vaguely recognized.

"Hey, shithead, what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?"

Before Sanji could take a step into the room, Zoro's arms swung out and spun his swords enough to build up a heavy wind and Sanji was forced to step back. Above the howling whirlwind, he could vaguely hear Zoro's voice shout out, "_Tatsu Maki!_" before the ceiling gave away and burst open like a clam. When the dust died down and Sanji could see clearly again, all he saw was a ruined office and an absence of Zoro.

"That goddamn seaweed, don't tell me..."

"He appears to have continued upwards without us," Robin said beside him.

"_Fuck,_" Sanji belted out, whirling around and screaming into his hands. "I _just fucking told him_ to have some fucking _consideration!_ That shithead – I'm gonna have to worry about _him_ on top of everything too!"

"Worried? About _Zoro?_" Robin replied, pronouncing it like a wry joke.

"Well, we didn't track him down just to let him get _lost_ again, did we? _Shit!_" Sanji looked up the hole in the ceiling and squinted up the sheer number of floors Zoro had seemingly flown up. "I can't fucking deal with this. That goddamn asshole..."

"We should just get out in the meantime," Robin said, tapping him on the shoulder and kneeling down for him to climb on her back. "We've at least gotten him free, and I can't imagine that he'll be leaving this building any time soon. We'll dig his body out of the collapsed remains of this base if we need to."

"Maybe without the head so we can at least have the _useful_ part back on our ship," Sanji grumbled, letting his ire win out over his embarrassment for the time being.

But it was hard to be pissed off forever, even for a seething thunderstorm personified, and Sanji found his mind wandering as the rhythm of Robin's pace pulsed through him from the pitter patter sound of her galoshes to the jostling of his body to the synchronization of their labored breathing. In the relative silence, there was nothing to distract him from the thoughts that clamped his mind with heavy dread, and he couldn't help but review the list of everything that could go wrong, courtesy of his imagination.

He hadn't heard Luffy's rampage for a while now. Zoro had his swords, but he had already been captured once. And who knows what the status of the outside group was. So many things could have happened in the time that they had been out of his sight. Things ranging from competent military tactics to a surprise visit from a marine admiral to a freak accident involving a rock slide collaborating with a mud slide and using their powers combined to summon an avalanche.

Don't think so much, admonished a voice that sounded similar to Robin's. What use is there in conjuring up images that only serve to make you feel bad? Even if you were present for a rock-mud-snow-slide, what good would you being there _do? _How exactly do you think that you and you alone can fight off the ridiculous threats your mind makes up? Just because you were the one who thought them? After all this time, all that you've been through, shouldn't you put more trust in them?

And he should. Nothing had happened before. Even Zoro, who was pretty much the most willing to go to death, simply failed to die. They had gone up against much worse than some stupid marine base on a shitty mudhole – and yet, his head continued to swim with what sort of horror would be waiting for him once he finally found everybody else, because there _had_ to be something. Things don't go right when you look away. As soon as you do, then someone does something like cut off their own leg...

He was afraid of nothing, absolutely nothing. He was afraid of knowing nothing, seeing nothing, suspended in a state of nothing, where the only company he had were his thoughts and the creative ways they could imagine terrible fates for each and every person he loved. And the worst thing was, if he let his mind run wild, nothing at all was almost preferable compared to going out to check. Uncertainty could be habitable when reality would be too harsh. And wow, what the fuck, when did he get so messed up?

Don't think so much. You're leaving the base to meet up with the others. No more, no less. Don't think about what's out there until you actually see. Banish all speculation. No monsters. No rampant diseases. No war, no dismemberment, no executions no comas no volcanoes no earthquakes sea kings forest beasts mosquito infection sores oozing pus death decay tornadoes whirlwinds typhoons monsoons bones crushing bodies pulverized drowning starvation brain hemorrhaging cancer gone gone gone forever death death death death _**don't think.**_

If his fingernails dug into Robin's shoulders, then she made no complaints. Instead, she let the sudden burst of fresh air and the sound of frantic battle rouse him from the hole he had dug in his head and he let out a breath, the most toxic breath he had ever held in even with years of chain-smoking under his belt, and he opened his eyes.

The front lines were quite a ways ahead of them. It wasn't like the crew had been trying to get in the base, after all. Everybody looked so miserable and muddy, it was hard to tell anybody apart and Sanji thought his heart would burst until his eyes finally settled on Nami's hair, brilliantly orange in the flash of lightning hell she delivered onto her foes.

He could see Franky still perched at the Thousand Sunny, bombastically signaling a hail of cannon fire by way of pelvic thrusts. If Sanji had any compliment for the cyborg, it was that it was impossible for him _not_ to be seen. Brook was similarly easy to catch sight of, because nobody else could lay claim to being a skeleton. He seemed to be fighting one-on-one, a rarity for someone with a fighting style based off catching entire groups of people off-guard and finishing them off before they could fight back. He seemed to be enjoying himself, judging by his manic laughter – or he could be screaming. It was hard to tell.

He heard Usopp before he saw him – the sharpshooter had sharp eyes as always and was the first to see their exit. "They're out!" he yelped to nobody in particular and his voice quickly got lost in the ensuing chaos.

Chopper was...

He couldn't see Chopper.

Where? Why? Chopper wouldn't be in one of his smaller forms while fighting, would he? He would be in Heavy Point, or maybe Kung-Fu Point, or, or, something _big,_ something _visible,_ he couldn't, no, no no no somebody would have noticed –

A platoon of marines exploded upwards as Chopper erupted from the slurry known as the ground in his Horn Point, completely covered in mud and sounding rather unhappy about it. As the doctor voiced his extensive list of complaints, Sanji felt something like a laugh expel from within as panic wound down to deranged relief.

"Where's Zoro?" Usopp called out from his position, waving his arms wildly at them even though he had some sort of clay-related Devil Fruit user to focus on. It was at that point that something exploded from above, causing a drizzle of rubble and pulverized stone. As Sanji shielded his face, he spotted a blur of red and green shooting out from the dust cloud above, sailing in the air in a familiarly painful way.

"HEYEVERYBODYIGOTZOROLET'SGOOOOOOOO!" Luffy belted out, his arm stretched around Zoro's stomach in what looked like another one of his 'Gomu Gomu no I Forgot Nobody Else Is Rubber Like Me' moves. The two of them instantly crashed into the main mast of the Thousand Sunny.

This time, Sanji couldn't hold it in. He laughed in the middle of a fight for their lives, long and hard, before burying his face into the nape of Robin's neck, trying to quell his shivering, his tears.

"You were right," he whispered. And he could feel Robin smiling back.

The fight instantly shifted as Nami barked out, "_Everybody back on the ship!_" and the entire crew turned as one to flee like dogs. The marines hadn't quite expected a sudden retreat and so had stood stunned in the mud for a few seconds before making a hasty, belligerent pursuit. Franky was already pulling up the anchor, allowing the Sunny to start sliding backwards where it belonged. Usopp threw Chopper back on board and had him pull him up while Brook just jumped the distance. Nami turned around, hanging onto the side of the creaking ship, her eyes searching for the two remaining crew members still behind enemy lines.

Robin's eyes glinted back and Sanji could hear trouble in her voice when she said, "Hang on tight." He almost screamed when she threw him up without warning and caught him on one of her shoulders, and considered screaming anyways at the precarious position he now found himself in, unable to hold onto anything that would stabilize his upper body so that he wouldn't just topple over. The restraints around his legs made of arms was surprisingly not comforting.

It was hard for Robin to gain much speed with the terrain and the weird balance she now had with an entire human adult on one of her arms, but she was nothing but a problem solver and she eliminated one of the hindrances by growing legs out of the mud and using them as stairs to get to the height necessary to use the marines' heads as stepping stones. Between the mud and the accelerating Thousand Sunny and his still-pristine-but-the-day's-not-over-yet suit and the _mud_ and the way he felt like he was going to fall _in the mud,_ Sanji wasn't quite sure where to focus his attention, and so that was the reason why he didn't quite notice that Robin had made a rope of arms connected to one of the Thousand Sunny's masts until she made a leap towards it, over muskets and rifles and swords and irate marines and _mud._

This time, Sanji screamed.

The momentum and surprise of the jump made him flail backwards and he couldn't see what happened next, but of course, Robin caught her rope and the two of them went swinging towards the ship's deck as they all slid on solid-ish ground to freedom once more.

And that was how the most aggravatingly troublesome and simultaneously happiest day of his life ended.


	10. And Life Goes On

He found himself admiring the sea, holding an ash tray in one hand and quietly smoking with the other. He had gone out with the intention of going back to the kitchen as usual, but on this day, he found himself drawn out towards the deep blue. The ship was remarkably quiet. It was such a rare and peaceful time, and the romantic within him couldn't help but wax poetic about the sky melding with the water and shit like that and for once, he felt charitable enough to listen. It would be okay for him to stay here, just for a while, meditate, smoke, mentally prepare himself for something he had been meaning to do.

Usopp flung himself beside him and hung over the railing as noisily as anybody possibly could, squinting up at Sanji's mouth. "Did Chopper really give you the okay to smoke?"

"More like reluctantly admitted that I'm not a patient anymore so I can make my own shitty decisions on how to fuck up my body like a real adult."

"Okay, but do you _really_ have to smoke three at once?"

Sanji broke eye contact with the sea just so he could give Usopp his most condescendingly pitying look. "I got a backlog to keep up. Haven't gotten a smoke in nine months. That's like fucking...two hundred-seventy days. Per seventeen cigarettes each day, that's...four thousand, five hundred and ninety smokes I _completely_ missed out on. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"I don't _want_ to get what you're saying."

"I've suffered a lack of four thousand, five hundred and ninety smokes and I'm _feeling _it. In my soul." Sanji pounded a fist around where his soul would probably be, apparently right over the sternum. "It's crying out, Usopp. It's crying out for the things it missed. I gotta do it. I gotta smoke nine months worth of cigs."

Despite his heartfelt speech, Usopp didn't look particularly impressed. "Sanji, you're literally going to die."

"Whatever."

"Well, I guess if you're smoking again, that means Chopper's check-up went good." Ah, there it was. The topic that most everybody was going to pester him about. Usopp's eyes scanned Sanji's impassive face. "It...did, right?"

Sanji had gotten up earlier than usual to pace about the infirmary, clenching and unclenching his hands, staring firmly at the floorboards because he had a feeling that he already knew what was coming. And so when Chopper finally came around, he found the cook jittering his leg and chewing shitty gum just so that he wouldn't grind his teeth to dust.

Chopper's hooves gently prodded at his hands, going over them with sympathy and dexterity. Any questions he asked were answered with a clipped, resigned tone, and the sort of questions Chopper asked told him everything he needed to know. So when the doctor poked and prodded and asked the same questions over and over with increasing desperation, Sanji finally just leaned back and told him that it was fine. There were some things you had to give up.

And Chopper cried, fat tears dribbling down and sticking to his fur in wet clumps, and he didn't know why this would happen, it was just supposed to be a simple matter of healing, maybe the burn was more severe than he thought, maybe it had done lasting trauma to his nerves, he didn't understand how, it was only supposed to be a second degree burn, but there was no way it would just _not heal,_ how could this be,

Sanji just laid his right hand on top of Chopper's hat and asked if there was hope for this one.

Maybe. It had recovered some tactile functions already, he could feel pressure at least, maybe not texture or temperature or, or, pain or anything, just a dull presence, but if his nerves had recovered partly then maybe they would recover all the way, but the other one, the other one...

Sometimes, a doctor has to encounter people that he can't save. He could try as hard as he could, as best as he could, but sometimes, they die anyways. Not because the doctor was bad. But because the world had no karma, no concept of tragedy or morality, because sometimes the world liked to seek out doctors with courage and remind them that death had been winning for far longer than they have, remind them of their burdens of responsibility, break them down and leave them to gather the pieces. But it's not their fault.

And then he asked Chopper not to tell anyone.

Sanji looked down the long nose that pointed at him, down into the questioning eyes of Usopp. He could have said, "I'm fine." That's what he usually did.

He could have broken down into tears and held Usopp's hand in his own, just feeling his presence because his presence was all that he would feel. That's what he had expected to do.

But because he didn't actually feel the tears brimming inside, because he didn't feel mournful, because he felt like the time for pitying himself had passed him by months ago, he said, "It's okay if I tell you later, right?"

Usopp's mouth tightened at the somber tone and he nodded grimly. Sanji smiled back and then rested his hand on top of Usopp's anyways, because he was happy to even be able to feel his presence in the first place. Just that much was something to celebrate.

The two stood in silence for a few minutes. Sanji flicked the ashes off of all three of his cigarettes and grimaced.

"I gotta admit. These things taste _awful."_

Usopp erupted into laughter, something that always seemed to come easy for him. "You just notice _now?_"

"Shut up," Sanji grumbled back, starting to fish through his pockets. "I think Chopper's fucking sweet tooth rubbed off on me...damn shithead."

Sanji deftly unwrapped a lollipop, stuck the wrapper in the ashtray, and somehow found enough room in his mouth to pop it in. He saw Usopp's incredulous stare out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"One day you're going to swallow a cigarette. Chopper will have to do surgery just to get your stupid cigarettes out of your stupid stomach. And nobody will be surprised."

They maintained eye contact for a few seconds before Sanji pulled away and gave an easy shrug. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Oh my god. Oh my _god._ Do you even _think_ about the life choices you make."

"Thought about it a little. Decided I was right. Go off and do whatever the hell you do, alright?"

Usopp opened his mouth, thought better, and playfully shoved Sanji's head instead. "C'mon. I'm still cooking with you, right? We gotta do lunch."

"Geez, Chopper already said I'm done healing, I don't _need_ help anymore," Sanji said, trying to make sure it didn't sound hurtful. He rolled his eyes and tapped Usopp straight in the goggles. "You already got three fucking jobs, you're like the sharpshooter, the gardener, and then sometimes the engineer or something? What the shit! Are you trying to steal my job too, asshole?"

"Fine, fine," Usopp placated, already backing off. "I get it, I was just offering help!"

"Well, fuck off. I'm planning a nice surprise for everybody at lunch and that means _everybody._ Ask again later, shithead."

It was about as polite an invitation that Usopp was going to get, so the sharpshooter shrugged and strolled away, hands in his pockets. Sanji blew threatening smoke rings at his back until he finally disappeared below deck, leaving the ship tranquil once more, with the sound of waves slapping against its sides being its only friend.

Sanji lingered at the seascape for a few more seconds before stubbing out his cigarettes and plodding towards the figurehead of the Thousand Sunny. There, he found what he knew he would always find. The lion's head was the captain's uncontested perch. And it was the only place where he was relatively quiet.

"Hey," he said, softly, like he didn't want to surprise the kid into the ocean, but Luffy didn't look surprised to see him in the first place. Only turned his head enough to catch Sanji's figure in his peripheral vision. Sanji couldn't see his face, only the hints of an eye behind wild strands of black hair. It was such a solemn look that he wondered if he should have tried wearing something fancier than a pastel camisole and pink whale pajama bottoms. He took in a breath.

"I was wrong. And a real piece of shit. I want you to know that I know that now. Will you forgive me?"

Luffy didn't move. His answer was as hushed as Sanji's voice, acknowledging that he knew well enough that this conversation was much too private for his usual, brash tone. Nobody would hear them talk unless they intentionally eavesdropped. And the people on this ship were mostly smart enough to not do that. "Are you gonna cook me all the meat in the world?"

"I can't."

"Then I won't." Said unhesitatingly. The absolute, final verdict. No chance of a retrial. "But you're not gonna do it again, right?"

He could feel his scarred hand, or rather, he couldn't. The red, mottled skin burned into his eyes. "No."

Luffy nodded absently, turning to face ahead again. The clouds were light, a cheerful foam of whipped cream on the top of the world. "Good. Then we're cool. So, Sanji..."

The cook stiffened, only to find himself putting on his usual face of irritation as Luffy leaned over backwards with a whine in his voice. "When's luuuuuuunch? I'm hungry!"

Sanji couldn't tell what cracked in his mouth, but it was either the lollipop or a tooth. "You shitty piece of walking vacuum, it'll be done when it's done! Christ, you never fucking give me a _break,_ why don't you just eat the entire goddamn sea!"

But before he stomped his way back to the kitchen, he shouted back, "I'm making something special for lunch! Look forward to it!"

Luffy beamed at him like he was the most important fucking person in the damn world, his smile lighting the horizon like a sunrise, and Sanji turned, shot one straight back. Smiled so much it hurt. And he slipped his scarred hand out of his pocket and raised two fingers to his head in a modest salute.


End file.
